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OB, 

SKETCHES  OF  AMERICAN  PAINTERS. 


Digitized  by 

the  Internet  Archive 

in  2013 

http://archive.org/details/artistlifeorsketOOtuck 


AETIST-LIFE: 

OR 

SKETCHES  OF  AMERICAN  PAINTERS. 


BY 

HENRY  T.  TUCKERMAN, 

AUTHOR   OF   "  THOUGHTS   ON   THE   POETS,"  ETC. 


When,  from  the  sacred  garden  driven 

Man  fled  before  his  Maker's  wrath, 
An  angel  left  her  place  in  heaven, 

And  cross'd  the  wanderer's  sunless  path. 
'Twas  Art  I  sweet  Art !  new  radiance  broke 

Where  her  light  foot  flew  o'er  the  ground, 
And  thus  with  seraph  voice  she  spoke : 

"  The  curse  a  blessing  shall  be  found." 


NEW-YORK: 
D.  APPLETON  &  COMPANY,  200  BROADWAY. 

PHILADELPHIA  ! 
GEO.  S.  APPLETON,  148  CHESNCJT-STREET. 
MDCCCXLYII. 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1847, 
By  D.  APPLETON  &  COMPANY, 
the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  Southern  District  of  New- York 


CONTENTS. 


Page 


Benjamin  West,      ......  9 

Copley,    .......  20 

Stuart,        .  .  .  .  .  .  .28 

Trumbull,         .         .  .  .  .  .  36 

Allston,      .  .         .  .  .  .  .43 

Malbone,  ......  54 

Vanderlyn,  .  .  .  .  .  -  .61 

Morse,     .......  68 

DURAND,        .  .  .  .  .  .  .79 

W.  E.  West,  89 

Sully,         .......  99 

Inman,     .......  105 

Cole,  .....  .  .  116 

Leslie,     .......  123 

Weir,  .  .  .  .  .  .  .128 

Chapman,  .  .  .  .  .  .  146 

Edmonds,       .  .  .  .  .  ,  .157 

Freeman,  .  .  .         .         .  .163 

Leutze,        .......  171 

Huntington,       .  .  .  .  .  .185 

Deas,  .  .  ,  .  .  .  .202 

Flagg,     .......  215 

G.  L.  Brown,  ,         ,         .         ,         .  ,221 


ARTIST-LIFE 


BENJAMIN  WEST. 

Art,  if  the  anecdote  be  not  invented  by  the  romance 
of  biography,  was  born  on  this  continent  beside  the  cra- 
dle of  a  sleeping  infant ;  and  the  extraordinary  career 
of  the  Quaker  boy  who  left  the  woods  of  America  to 
become  the  President  of  the  Royal  Academy  in  London, 
is  one  of  the  memorable  lessons  of  childhood.  The  per- 
sonal respect  which  the  character  of  Benjamin  West  has 
universally  inspired,  the  interesting  details  of  his  life, 
and  the  grateful  recollection  in  which  his  name  is  held 
by  succeeding  painters,  have  tended  in  some  degree  to 
blend  his  claims  as  an  artist  with  those  to  which  he  is 
entitled  as  a  man.  It  is  important  to  define,  if  possible, 
the  limits  of  both.  Discrimination  is  quite  compatible 
with  love.  Indeed,  the  only  affection  that  has  a  sure 
basis  is  one  conceived  and  nurtured  in  the  invigorating 
atmosphere  of  truth.    Character  and  genius  are  quite 

2 


10 


ART  I  ST-L  T  FE, 


distinct,  and  we  may  feel  sincere  homage  for  the  one 
while  we  question  the  reality  of  the  other.  There  can, 
indeed,  be  no  acceptable  tribute  to  a  manly  soul  except 
that  which  justice  sanctions  and  wisdom  confirms ;  and 
we  deem  ourselves  offering  a  genuine  oblation  to  the 
integrity  of  the  pioneer  of  American  art,  if,  while  cordi- 
ally recognizing  his  moral  attributes,  we  frankly  discuss 
his  artistic  merits. 

That  "  tide  in  the  affairs  of  men "  of  which  the 
great  bard  speaks,  is  as  often  discernible  in  the  achieve- 
ment of  fame  as  of  fortune.  A  remarkable  series  of 
propitious  circumstances  attended  the  life  of  West. 
When  he  first  began  to  indulge  his  imitative  faculties, 
the  accidental  visit  of  a  relative  suggested  the  gift  of  a 
paint-box — at  that  time  no  small  rarity  in  his  isolated 
neighborhood.  There  is  little  in  the  habits  or  creed  of 
the  Quakers  auspicious  to  the  fine  arts,  yet  if  we  are  to 
believe  one  of  his  biographers,  the  spirit  moved  a  member 
of  the  fraternity  to  reconcile,  with  no  little  eloquence,  the 
alleged  vanity  of  painting  with  the  requirements  of  the 
Gospel — -a  triumph  over  bigotry  quite  extraordinary,  con- 
sidering the  condition  of  society  where  it  occurred.  While 
he  was  yet  a  youth,  a  famine  in  the  south  of  Europe 
induced  a  Philadelphia  merchant  to  dispatch  a  vessel  to 
Leghorn  with  flour,  and  the  opportunity  was  improved  by 
one  of  his  juvenile  friends  to  see  the  world,  to  whom  the 
painter  became  a  companion.  When  they  were  boarded 
at  Gibraltar  by  a  British  officer,  this  young  man  proved 
to  be  his  kinsman,  and  they  were  not  only  unmolested. 


BENJAMIN  WEST. 


11 


but  treated  with  a  distinction  that  gave  eclat  to  the  voyage 
up  the  Mediterranean — the  effect  of  which  was  clearly 
perceptible  on  their  arrival.  At  the  period  that  West 
visited  Rome,  the  mere  fact  was  calculated  to  excite  at- 
tention. He  came  from  a  land  around  which  still  hung 
the  charm  of  tradition  and  romance.  It  was  deemed  by 
the  imaginative  Italians  a  circumstance  of  great  interest 
that  a  handsome  youth  should  have  made  a  pilgrimage 
from  the  distant  forests  of  the  western  world  to  study  art 
in  Rome.  The  very  day  succeeding  his  arrival,  a  curi- 
ous party  followed  his  steps  to  observe  the  impression 
created  by  the  marvels  he  encountered,  and  a  friendly 
regard  naturally  sprang  up  in  their  minds  for  the  inex- 
perienced exile.  It  is  now  a  thing  of  common  occurrence 
for  an  American  to  arrive  in  the  Eternal  City  bent  upon 
the  same  objects.  Then  it  was  a  novelty,  and  one  which 
operated  most  favorably  upon  the  dawning  career  of 
West.  The  kindness  of  Robinson  and  Cardinal  Albani 
was  also  opportune  in  the  highest  degree,  nor  is  it  difficult 
to  trace  its  after  influence.  The  state  of  art  in  England 
when  our  fortunate  artist  went  thither,  proved  no  less 
favorable.  The  throne  of  historical  painting  was  vacant, 
and  although  in  portrait  and  landscape  a  few  stars  yet 
glimmered,  their  light  rather  heralded  than  outshone  the 
new  aspirant  for  honor  and  emolument.  His  countrymen 
in  London  were  already  prepared  to  extend  the  hand  of 
fellowship,  and  Archbishop  Drummond's  kindly  tact  soon 
obtained  for  him  the  favor  of  the  king,  which  his  own  pru- 
dence and  amiability  ere  long  ripened  into  actual  friend- 


12  ARTIST-LIFE. 

ship.  We  do  not  intend  to  ascribe  all  the  success  of  the 
artist  to  circumstances,  but  in  the  lives  of  few  of  his  pro- 
fession have  they  combined  to  such  a  degree  towards 
encouraging  whatever  of  native  power  existed.  The 
sunshine  of  prosperity  is  generally  acknowledged  to  exert 
a  fostering  influencCj  and  through  a  large  part  of  West's 
career,  it  glowed  with  a  brightness  that  seldom  irradiates 
the  precarious  fortunes  of  artist-life.  Some  of  the  very 
circumstances  adduced  by  the  disciples  of  West  in  up- 
holding his  title  to  the  highest  rank  in  art,  confirm  the 
view  we  have  suggested.  That  he  should  compare  the 
Apollo  Belvidere  at  the  first  glance  to  a  young  Mohawk 
warrior,  shows  how  much  his  mind  was  given  to  the  con- 
ventionalities of  art ;  for  upon  an  ideal  spectator,  it  is  the 
thrilling  expression  of  the  god  that  arrests  both  eye  and 
heart,  and  not  the  litheness  of  his  mould  or  the  graceful 
animation  of  his  figure.  The  painter's  complaint  of  Michael 
Angelo,  that  he  had  not  succeeded  in  giving  any  proba- 
bility to  his  works,  also  shows  a  want  of  sympathy  with 
the  adventurous.  The  famous  reply  that,  as  a  boy,  the 
future  President  of  the  Royal  Academy  made  to  his  com- 
rade, who  looked  forward  to  being  a  tailor — A  painter  is 
a  companion  for  kings  and  emperors  " — strikes  us  as 
indicative  of  worldly  ambition  far  more  than  of  any  pre- 
cocious idea  of  the  dignity  of  art.  One  of  his  eulogists 
gravely  declares  that  he  rarely  failed  to  achieve  what 
he  proposed  within  the  time  allotted  for  its  performance," 
a  tribute  to  industrious  and  methodical  habits  rather  ques- 
tionable when  applied  to  efibrts  requiring  felicitous  and 


BENJAMIN  WEST. 


13 


exalted  moods.  His  powers  of  observation  were  evi- 
dently far  greater  than  those  of  conception.  He  assidu- 
ously sought  and  improved  occasions  to  widen  their  range. 
The  manner  in  which  he  inferred  the  principle  of  the 
camera,  from  seeing  the  effect  of  light  that  gleamed 
through  a  closed  shutter  upon  the  wall  of  his  sick  room ; 
his  successful  experiments  to  discover  how  a  candle's 
rays  were  reflected  in  an  old  picture ;  his  visit  to  Spit- 
head  to  study  the  effect  of  smoke  in  a  naval  combat,  pre- 
paratory to  executing  the  battle  of  La  Hague,  evince, 
among  other  instances,  how  carefully  he  strove  to  apply 
the  facts  of  nature  to  the  purposes  of  art.  This,  as  well 
as  nearly  all  his  desirable  traits,  arose  from  the  practical 
good  sense  which  he  possessed — a  quality  w^e  would  by  no 
means  undervalue  in  affairs,  but  one  of  but  limited  efficacy 
in  the  creations  of  genius,  to  which  its  relation  is  by  no 
means  intimate.  In  proportion  as  the  designs  of  West 
came  within  the  sphere  of  the  actual,  and  were  removed 
from  highly  poetic  or  deeply  religious  associations,  they 
are  fitted  to  please.  His  classical  scenes  and  battle- 
pieces  we  contemplate  without  impatience.  His  fame 
suffers  from  that  common  error — a  mistaken  position.  He 
attempted  to  embody  ideas  and  represent  sentiments  be- 
yond the  reach  of  his  natural  powers.  With  every  en- 
dowment necessary  for  high  respectability  in  art,  he  had 
no  legitimate  claim  to  be  one  of  her  chief  priests.  Yet, 
with  no  conscious  irreverence,  did  he  approach  the  altar, 
when  he  should  have  lingered  in  the  vestibule  of  her 
temple.    It  was  the  boldness  of  ignorance,  the  self-confi- 


14 


A  R  Tl S  T - L I F  E . 


dence  of  a  mind  to  which  the  mysteries  of  life  were  but 
slightly  revealed.  It  has  been  a  theme  of  surprise  that 
West  should  have  so  long  kept  the  favor  of  his  royal 
patron ;  but  the  wonder  is  at  once  dissipated  if  we  study 
his  character.  He  was  from  first  to  last  an  American 
Quaker — a  being  to  whom  the  dictates  of  prudence  were 
a  satisfactory  law,  and  whose  ideal  of  virtue  consisted  in 
maintaining  a  passionless  and  kindly  spirit.  He  sent 
home  for  the  bride  whom  he  had  so  patiently  loved,  v/hen 
his  circumstances  justified  marriage.  He  consulted  the 
king  more  frequently  than  any  inward  oracle  ;  and  when 
the  monarch's  patronage  was  withdrawn,  he  did  not  com- 
plain. When  between  sixty  and  seventy  years  of  age, 
he  commenced  a  series  of  great  works,  quite  too  extensive 
ever  to  be  realized.  This  mechanical  view  of  his  pro- 
fession, and  the  complacent  readiness  with  which  it  was 
followed,  accord  with  the  opinions  expressed  in  his  dis- 
courses, where  he  declares  that  "  the  true  use  of  painting 
resides  in  assisting  the  reason  to  arrive  at  certain  moral 
inferences,  by  furnishing  a  probable  view  of  the  effects 
of  motives  and  passions."  The  amount  of  native  enthu- 
siasm and  divine  aspiration  that  belonged  to  West,  may 
be  inferred  from  this  humble  and  prosaic  estimate  of  his 
own  art. 

"  Regulus  resigning  himself  to  the  ambassadors  of  Car- 
thage," was  the  subject  of  his  first  successful  picture  in 
England,  but  the  sketch  of  Agrippina  occasioned  his  in- 
troduction to  the  king.  His  facility  and  extensive  theo- 
retical knowledge,  his  acquaintance  with  available  expe- 


BENJAMIN  WEST. 


15 


dients,  and  his  regular  industry,  were  the  great  means  of 
his  advancement  as  an  artist ;  while  his  thorough  bene- 
volence, correct  habits,  and  self-respect,  as  effectually 
promoted  his  social  consideration.  The  bland  atmos- 
phere of  his  early  associations  and  his  mature  fortunes 
seems  to  have  continued  to  the  last,  for  he  died  at  the 
age  of  eighty-two,  without  any  specific  disease,  unim- 
paired in  mind  and  urbane  in  spirit. 

West  relied  upon  general  effects ;  his  ability  lies  in 
combination  rather  than  detail.  He  excites  respect  on 
account  of  the  sound  judgment  displayed  in  his  works. 
We  recognize  in  them  a  mature  knowledge.  His  aim 
seems  to  have  been  scenic,  and  therefore  he  depends 
almost  wholly  upon  the  spectator's  first  impression.  Our 
feelings  are  not  won  by  degrees  into  sympathy  with  a 
great  idea  or  touching  sentiment,  but  attention  is  caught 
by  the  grandeur  of  the  entire  design,  and  the  breadth  of 
the  scene.  There  is  no  intense  individuality,  no  concen- 
trated emotion  such  as  emanates  from  those  master- 
pieces into  which  the  artist  has  infused  his  very  being. 
We  think  more  of  art  in  general  than  of  the  idiosyncra- 
sies of  the  painter  in  contemplating  his  productions,  and 
gratify  our  imaginations  by  the  thought  of  what  a  more 
inspired  limner  would  have  done  with  such  a  command 
of  materials.  Intelligence  is,  indeed,  stamped  upon  his 
compositions,  and  if  this  were  the  greatest  human  attri- 
bute, they  would  not  challenge  inquiry  •  but  we  do  not 
feel  that  electric  spirit  and  mysterious  principle  which 
distinguish  the  offspring  of  genius  from  that  of  talent  and 


16 


A  RTIST-L  IFE  . 


industry.  The  point  at  issue  between  the  advocates  of 
such  efforts  and  those  who  lament  their  inadequacy,  is 
one  that  has  been  again  and  again  discussed  in  reference 
to  literature.  Perhaps  the  most  striking  instance  on  re- 
cord is  the  controversy  as  to  the  respective  merits  of 
Shakspeare  and  the  French  drama.  Minds  that  the 
truthful  and  living  creations  of  the  English  poet  do  not 
render  unconscious  of  his  violation  of  technical  rules,  we 
conceive  to  be  by  nature  incapable  of  appreciating  his 
ex  cellencies.  It  is,  after  all,  a  question  of  feeling  ;  and 
if  those  who  are  content  with  the  artificial  proprieties  of 
Racine,  wonder  at  the  lovers  of  Shakspeare  for  enduring 
his  sins  against  taste  or  probability,  not  less  great  is  the 
astonishment  of  the  latter  that  any  one  who  has  ever  felt 
the  glow  of  ambition,  the  thrill  of  love,  or  the  anguish  of 
remorse,  could  fail  to  recognize  in  Lear,  Macbeth,  and 
Hamlet,  the  greatest  written  types  of  humanity.  It  is 
no  fanciful  distinction  which  we  desire  to  indicate.  On 
the  contrary,  the  principle  at  issue  underlies  not  only 
literature  and  art,  but  manners  and  life.  It  forms  the 
true  difference  between  spontaneous  and  conventional 
virtue,  between  etiquette  and  heartfelt  courtesy,  acquire- 
ments and  wisdom,  the  spirit  and  the  letter  of  the  law. 
Take  an  effusion  of  Dryden  and  one  of  Coleridge — 
Alexander's  Feast  and  Genevieve,  for  instance.  In  the 
former  we  behold  at  once  a  command  of  language,  a 
sense  of  rhythm,  a  hand  practiced  in  versification,  and 
apt  in  rhetoric ;  in  the  latter,  we  pause  not  to  consider 
these  external  facilities,  because  of  the  beautiful  and 


BENJAMIN    WEST.  17 

absorbing  sentiment  of  which  they  are  exponents.  One 
we  remenaber  as  an  elocutionary  exercise,  the  other  as  a 
cherished  echo  of  the  sweetest  experience  of  our  hearts. 
And  thus  a  Madonna  of  Raphael  or  a  Magdalen  of  Co- 
reggio  conveys  a  lively  consciousness  of  the  feelings  they 
represent,  as  if  it  had  been  breathed  through  color  and 
outline.  In  a  word,  we  are  magnetized  by  the  holy  spell 
of  maternal  love  or  penitent  grief.  Is  it  thus  with  the 
pictures  of  West  ?  With  the  events  they  commemorate, 
do  we  realize  the  idea  and  emotion  that  render  them 
sacred?  In  "Christ  healing  the  Sick,"  what  fixes  the 
mind  ?  Is  it  the  benign  inspiration  of  the  prominent 
figure,  or  the  awe-stricken  gaze  of  reverence,  and  the 
earnest  pleadings  of  human  affection  in  those  that  sur- 
round it  ?  Is  it  not  rather  the  successful  representation 
of  physical  suffering,  the  dexterous  grouping,  and  the 
effective  drapery  ?  The  sick  man  excites  far  higher  and 
more  deserved  admiration  than  he  by  whose  divine  word 
he  is  healed.  It  may  be  argued  that  such  a  comparison 
is  unfair,  inasmuch  as  the  difficulties  to  be  overcome  and  the 
effect  to  be  realized  in  the  two  cases  are  quite  diverse.  This 
is  but  admitting  West's  over-estimate  of  his  own  powers. 
The  choice  of  a  subject  is  often  as  indicative  of  genius  or 
its  absence  as  its  development,  and  the  manner  in  which 
West  treated  the  grand  themes  he  selected,  proves  that 
between  them  and  his  mind  there  was  little  affinity.  If 
the  picture  we  are  considering  was  intended  to  portray  a 
hospital,  to  excite  benevolence  by  a  vivid  representation 
of  "  the  ills  that  flesh  is  heir  to,"  it  would  merit  the  high- 

2* 


18 


A  R  T 1 ST-LIF  E. 


est  encomiums;  but  the  acknowledged  purpose  is  far 
more  lofty — it  professes  to  depict  the  most  venerated  cha- 
racter that  ever  lived  on  earth — the  exercise  of  the  high- 
est functions  ever  delegated  to  a  being  in  the  form  of 
man — the  exhibition  of  a  sympathy  for  human  sorrow 
more  tender,  comprehensive,  and  profound  than  was  ever 
manifested  in  the  world.  ^'  To  the  height  of  this  great 
argument "  something  besides  tact,  dexterity,  and  skill  in 
drawing  and  color,  something  besides  a  knowledge  of 
light  and  shade,  a  practiced  hand,  and  a  confident  mind 
was  needed.  An  inspiration  such  as  filled  the  heart  and 
imagination  of  the  painter,  and  involved  the  absorption  of 
self  in  the  pathos  and  majesty  of  the  scene,  a  sympathe- 
tic as  well  as  an  intelligent  relation  to  the  subject,  alone 
would  justify  and  hallow  such  an  undertaking.  And  it 
is  this  very  simplicity,  this  apparent  unconsciousness  of 
conditions  like  these,  which  affords  the  best  evidence  of 
West's  comparative  incompetency.  There  is  no  trace  of 
that  solemnity  of  feeling  which  breaks  from  Milton  in 
contemplating  his  great  poem.  It  would  appear  as  if  he 
set  about  portraying  miracles  in  a  spirit  the  most  com- 
monplace and  familiar.  There  was  no  pluming  of  the 
wings  for  a  long  flight,  no  vibration  of  the  harp-strings 
preparatory  to  an  earnest  strain,  no  gathering  up  of  the 
waters  ere  the  glorious  march.  The  cherubim  were  not 
invoked  to  impart  their  sacred  fire,  nor  did  the  hesitancy 
of  self-distrust  cause  the  dilated  heart  to  tremble.  It  was 
apparently  in  the  mere  spirit  of  honest  industry  and  a 
good  intention  that  our  excellent  painter  grappled  with 


BENJAMIN  WEST. 


19 


the  most  exalted  subjects.  If  West  had  one  poetic  instinct j 
it  was  implied  in  a  sensibility  to  the  grand  in  point  of 
scale  and  manner.    He  seems  to  have  conceived  of  art 
under  a  kind  of  melo-dramatic  phase.    There  was  some- 
thing noble  in  the  scope  of  his  conceptions.    A  magnifi- 
cent whole,  a  bringing  impressively  together  of  forms  and 
hues,  was  the  ideal  he  cherished — for  if  we  take  a  single 
figure  into  careful  view,  there  is  often  a  striking  want  of 
oneness  of  effect.    The  hands  of  the  Saviour  in  the  pic- 
ture we  have  noticed,  for  example,  do  not  seem  to  in- 
volve the  same  expression  as  the  chest ;  but  the  figure 
itself,  taken  in  connection  with  those  around,  is  effective. 
West,  accordingly,  seems  to  have  excelled  in  unity  of 
design,  without  recognizing  that  higher  law — unity  of 
expression ;  and  this,  we  think,  arose  from  a  lack  of  that 
soul  of  art  whereby  its  creations  are  both  harmonized 
and  made  vital. 


C  O  P  L  E  Y  0 


Portraits  appeal  to  the  love  of  order  as  well  as  of 
beauty.  They  are  useful  and  attractive  not  only  as  con- 
nected with  the  affections,  or  as  meritorious  works  of  art, 
but  as  symbols  of  departed  races  and  ages.  All  admit 
the  moral  charm  which  invests  an  ancient  estate  ;  and  the 
inactivity  of  the  sentiment  of  veneration  among  us,  has  been 
not  irrationally  ascribed  to  the  comparative  absence  of 
those  revered  objects  which,  from  earliest  childhood,  habitu- 
ate the  mind  to  dwell  upon  its  relations  with  what  has 
gone  before,  and  its  consequent  responsibility  to  the  future. 
That  wholesome  conservatism  by  which  the  feelings  are 
rendered  consistent  and  strong,  from  the  influence  of 
attachment  to  principles,  is  justly  regarded  as  the  most 
desirable  safeguard  against  reckless  fanaticism,  both  in 
politics  and  religion.  Human  beings  are  so  much  the 
creatures  of  sympathy,  and  the  memory  depends  so  greatly 
upon  the  imagination,  that  conservative  influences  are 
intimately  allied  with  material  objects.  Even  the  seared 
conscience  of  Lady  Macbeth  was  touched  by  the  resem- 
blance of  the  sleeping  Duncan  to  her  father ;  and  when 


COPLEY. 


21 


Jeannie  Deans  visited  the  Duke  of  Argyle,  she  wore  her 
country's  plaid,  knowing  "  his  honor  would  warm  to  the 
tartan."  In  this  connection  the  fine  arts  enact  an  im- 
portant part.  The  architecture  of  castles  and  palaces, 
the  statues  of  local  divinities,  the  designs  of  escutcheons 
and  sepulchral  monuments,  address  the  feelings  both  of 
love  and  pride  which  bind  generatious  of  men  together. 
Still  nearer  to  the  heart  are  family  portraits.  It  is  not 
the  invention  of  romantic  fiction  which  so  often  describes 
its  heroes  as  musing  in  their  youth,  in  some  quiet  gal- 
lery, over  the  lineaments  of  a  noble  ancestry.  "  Look 
on  this  picture  and  on  this,"  is  an  admonition  more  widely 
suggestive  than  it  was  to  Hamlet's  mother.  A  portrait," 
says  Hervey,  "  is  a  mournful  thing,  the  shadow  of  a  joy  ;" 
but  it  may  be  impressive,  affecting,  and  invaluable,  when 
brightened  by  a  hue  of  personal  devotion. 

Copley's  portraits  are  among  the  few  significant  me- 
morials of  the  past  encountered  in  this  country  ;  and,  as 
they  are  characteristic  to  a  high  degree,  possess  the  inter- 
est which  is  ever  attached  to  such  relics.  He  was  the 
only  resident  painter  of  real  skill  which  the  new  world 
could  boast  prior  to  the  Revolution  ;  and  seems  to  have 
followed  his  art  with  pride  and  assiduity.  The  heads  of 
leading  families,  especially  those  of  New  England,  sat  to 
him  ;  and  the  prices  he  commanded,  and  the  fame  he 
achieved,  were  quite  remarkable  for  the  period.  The 
want  of  early  advantages  appears  chiefly  in  Copley's  col- 
oring. It  is  probable  that  an  acquaintance  with  Titian 
would  have  felicitously  influenced  his  habits  in  this  re- 


22 


ARTIST-LIFE. 


gard.  Lord  Lyndhurst,  the  son  of  the  artist,  declares 
that  his  father  never  saw  a  good  picture  until  he  was 
thirty  years  of  age.  It  cannot  be  doubted  that  his  know- 
ledge was  acquired  under  considerable  discouragement, 
and  that  the  excellence  of  his  drawing  was  the  result  of 
persevering  study.  It  is  said  that  the  first  picture  which 
he  sent  to  England,  juvenile  effort  as  it  was,  exceeded  all 
subsequent  attempts  in  point  of  transparency  and  richness 
of  hue.  The  dryness  of  tone  and  formality  of  manner  in 
his  pictures  is,  in  a  great  degree,  attributable  to  the  un- 
propitious  influences  under  which  he  acquired  the  rudi- 
ments of  his  art. 

From  an  amusing  description  of  a  provoking  fellow- 
traveller  in  Italy,  in  one  of  his  letters,  we  infer  that  he 
was  not  deficient  in  humor.  It  was  one  of  his  peculiar 
fancies  to  introduce  squirrels  into  his  pictures,  and  he  is 
said  to  have  been  intimately  acquainted  with  the  natural 
history  of  this  animal,  and  we  imagine  made  pets  of  seve- 
ral of  the  species.  He  had  a  turn  for  literature,  espe- 
cially for  English  history  and  poetry  ;  and  was  an  excel- 
lent kinsman.  Considering  his  Irish  descent,  and  his 
artistic  propensities,  he  was  prudent  and  systematic  to  a 
remarkable  degree  ;  and  the  minute  finish  of  the  accesso- 
ries and  fabrics  in  his  portraits,  suggests  a  patience  and 
industry  quite  accordant  with  the  character  of  his  fellow- 
citizens.  His  residence  in  Boston  overlooked  the  Com- 
mon, and  that  in  London  is  still  occupied  by  his  son,  and 
adorned  with  his  works.  "  There  is  a  kind  of  luxury  in 
seeing,'*  he  remarks,  writing  from  Rome;  and  judging 


COPLEY  » 


23 


from  the  hint  Trumbull  gives  us  of  his  style  of  living,  as 
well  as  from  the  characteristics  of  his  paintings,  his  taste 
inclined  to  magnificence.  His  life  was  uncommonly 
prosperous.  For  his  ^ Death  of  Chatham'  he  refused 
fifteen  hundred  pounds ;  and  even  in  America,  where  he 
began  his  career  as  early  as  1760,  his  annual  income, 
according  to  his  own  statement,  was  three  hundred  guin- 
eas. Methodical  and  industrious  to  the  last,  his  powers 
deteriorated  with  age  ;  and  what  remains  to  us  of  his 
labors  evidences  that  his  talent  was  essentially  for  por- 
traiture— the  more  ambitious  efforts  being  only  a  collec- 
tion of  likenesses. 

He  had  the  good  sense  to  postpone  visiting  England 
until  the  commencement  of  hostilities,  and  reaped  a  liberal 
harvest  from  his  industry  at  home.  The  fruits  of  his 
early  toil  are  now  to  be  found  on  the  walls  of  several 
public  institutions,  in  venerable  country  houses,  and  the 
more  aristocratic  dwellings  of  our  cities.  Associated  as 
they  chiefly  are  with  the  Colonial  or  Revolutionary  period 
of  our  history,  there  lingers  around  them  the  charm  of  a 
bygone  era,  which  endears  even  their  palpable  defects. 
The  want  of  ease  and  nature  in  these  time-hallowed  por- 
traits, is,  indeed,  as  authentic  as  their  costume.  They  are 
generally  dignified,  elaborate,  and  more  or  less  ostenta- 
tious, but  we  recognize  in  these  very  traits  the  best  evi- 
dence of  their  correctness.  They  illustrate  the  men  and 
women  of  a  day  when  pride,  decorum,  and  an  elegance 
ungraceful  but  rich,  marked  the  dress  and  air  of  the 
higher   classes.     The  faces  are  rarely   insipid,  and 


24 


ARTIST-LIFE. 


the  hands  almost  invariably  fair  and  delicately  mould- 
ed. It  appears  to  have  been  a  favorite  mode  either  with 
the  artist  or  his  sitters,  to  introduce  writing  materi- 
als, and  to  select  attitudes  denoting  a  kind  of  meditative 
leisure.  The  otium  cum  dignitate  is  the  usual  phase. 
A  rich  brocade  dressing-gown  and  velvet  skullcap — a 
high-backed  and  daintily  carved  chair,  or  showy  curtain 
in  the  back-ground,  are  frequently  introduced.  Sir  and 
Madam  are  the  epithets  which  instinctively  rise  to  our 
lips  in  apostrophizing  these  "counterfeit  presentments." 
There  is  that  about  them  which  precludes  the  very  idea 
.of  taking  a  liberty.  They  look  like  incarnations  of  self- 
respect — people  born  to  command — men  whose  families 
were  regulated  with  the  reserve  of  state  policy,  and  wo- 
men who  were  models  of  virtue  and  propriety.  In  read- 
ing of  John  Hancock,  or  Mrs.  Boylston,  we  think  of  them 
as  painted  by  Copley.  Large  ruffles,  heavy  silks,  silver 
buckles,  gold-embroidered  vests  and  powdered  wigs,  are 
blent  in  our  imaginations  with  the  memory  of  patriot 
zeal  and  matronly  influence.  The  hardness  of  the  out- 
lines, and  the  semi-official  aspect  of  the  figures,  correspond 
exactly  with  the  spirit  of  those  times.  Like  all  genuine 
portrait  painters,  Copley  unconsciously  embodied  the  pe- 
culiarities of  his  age.  Pride  of  birth  had  not  then  been 
superseded  by  pride  of  wealth.  The  distinction  of  gentle 
blood  was  cherished.  Equality  had  only  began  to  assert 
itself  as  a  political  axiom ;  as  a  social  principle  it  had 
not  dawned  upon  the  most  ultra  reformers.  The  patri- 
cian element  still  carried  honorable  sway  in  the  new 


c  o  r  L  E  Y  . 


25 


world,  and  ere  its  external  signs  were  lost  in  republican 
sameness  of  bearing  and  costume,  the  pencil  of  Copley 
snatched  them  from  oblivion,  by  a  faithful  transfer  to 
canvas. 

The  sympathies  of  the  painter  were  modified  by  the 
circumstances  of  his  life.  Of  good  lineage,  and  on  inti- 
mate terms  with  the  wealthy  merchants  of  Boston  and 
the  learned  professors  of  Cambridge,  isolated  in  his  voca- 
tion, aristocratic  in  his  manners,  and  almost  constantly 
occupied,  he  shared  not  the  vagrant  habits  and  undisci- 
plined enthusiasm  of  artists  of  a  later  day.  He  was  emi- 
nently respectable ;  and  his  character  was  based  upon 
English  pride  and  intelligence.  There  was  no  over- 
flowing geniality  in  his  style.  He  seems  never  to  have 
come  into  any  vivid  relation  with  nature  ;  but  painted  with 
studious  regard  to  established  rules  and  conventional  pro- 
priety. While  quite  a  youth,  he  sent  a  picture  entitled 
The  Boy  and  Squirrel,"  to  the  Royal  Academy.  Its 
merit  was  at  once  acknowledged,  and  there  being  no 
name  annexed,  its  American  origin  was  inferred  from  the 
quality  of  the  wood  of  which  the  frame  was  made.  He 
regularly  exhibited  for  several  years  afterwards ;  so  that 
on  arriving  in  England,  his  reputation  for  portraiture  was 
already  established. 

"  A  Youth  rescued  from  a  Shark  *'  is  one  of  Copley's 
most  celebrated  works,  and  has  been  extensively  en- 
graved. The  ferocious  voracity  of  the  shark,  the  terror 
of  the  boy,  the  intrepid  spirit  of  his  deliverer,  the  heaving 
boat  and  bloody  wave  are  effectively  delineated.  The 


26 


ARTIST-LIFE. 


picture  is  now  in  the  School  of  Christ's  Hospital,  so 
well  described  by  Lamb.  In  the  "  Death  of  Chatham/' 
there  is  evident  the  same  rigidity  which  marks  his  minor 
attempts ;  but  the  scene  is  given  with  dramatic  expres- 
sion, and  the  varied  and  intelligible  feelings  of  each 
spectator  of  the  great  statesman's  failing  energies  vividly 
depicted.  Copley  and  Trumbull  in  their  military  com-  ,, 
positions,  first  successfully  introduced  modern  costumes 
in  historical  painting.  How  far  the  actual  should  be 
sacrificed  to  the  picturesque,  the  familiar  to  the  ideal, 
has  long  been  a  question,  and  one  which  it  is  very  diffi- 
cult to  settle.  There  is  something  essentially  ineffective 
and  ungraceful  in  dress-coats,  stocks,  chapeaus,  and  top- 
boots.  In  statuary  no  one  can  fail  to  perceive  how  much 
is  gained  by  approaching  the  nude,  or  introducing  the  sim- 
ple folds  of  classic  drapery.  In  the  "  Declaration  of  Inde- 
pendence," the  row  of  legs  is  positively  uncouth  ;  and  in 
the  military  scenes  of  Trumbull  and  Copley,  only  the 
interest  of  the  action  reconciles  us  to  the  homeliness  of 
the  details.  Red  coats  and  muskets  have  no  ideal  asso- 
ciations ;  but  these  artists  had  the  talent  to  give  cha- 
racter to  postures  and  faces ;  and  like  good  actors  in  an 
indifferent  theatre,  win  attention  from  the  accessories  by 
the  spirit  of  the  main  conception.  Copley's  Death  of 
Major  Pierson"  thus  affectingly  commemorates  an  in- 
stance of  heroic  self-sacrifice ;  and  had  the  requisite 
encouragement  been  given,  he  would  have  devoted  him- 
self to  that  department  of  historical  painting  which  em- 
bodies important  events,  by  distinguished  groups  and 


COPLEY  . 


27 


actual  portraits — such  as  Trumbull's  Declaration,  Les- 
lie's Coronation,  and  his  own  Defeat  of  the  Spanish 
Batteries  at  Gibraltar — a  branch  for  which  his  practiced 
skill  in  likenesses  and  his  judgment  in  arrangement 
were  finely  adapted. 


STUART. 


Stuart's  genius  was  eminently  practical.  There  are 
two  very  distinct  processes  by  which  superior  abilities  man- 
ifest themselves — that  of  intelligence  and  that  of  impulse. 
As  great  military  achievements  are  realized  equally 
through  self-possession  and  daring,  skill  and  bravery, 
foresight  and  enthusiasm,  the  calmness  of  a  Washington 
and  the  impetuosity  of  a  Murat,  literary  and  artistic  re- 
sults owe  their  efficiency  to  a  like  diversity  of  means. 
The  basis  of  Allston's  power  was  a  love  of  beauty — that 
of  Stuart's,  acuteness ;  the  one  possessed  delicate,  the 
other  strong  perception ;  one  was  inspired  by  ideality,  and 
the  other  by  sense.  Hence  Stuart  has  been  justly  called 
a  philosopher  in  his  art.  He  seized  upon  the  essential, 
and  scorned  the  adventitious.  He  was  impressed  with 
the  conviction  that  as  a  portrait  painter  it  was  his  business 
to  deal  frankly  with  nature,  and  not  suffer  her  temporary 
relations  to  interfere  with  his  aim.  Hence  his  well  known 
pertinacity  in  seeking  absolute  expression,  and  giving 
bold  general  effects — authentic  hints  rather  than  exqui- 
sitely-wrought details.  Hence,  too,  his  amusing  impatience 


STUART. 


29 


at  every  thing  factitious  and  irrelevant.  A  young  physi- 
cian whom  he  desired  to  paint  in  remuneration  for  pro- 
fessional services,  made  a  studied  toilet,  and  with  a  deep 
sense  of  the  importance  of  the  occasion,  appeared  punc- 
tually at  the  hour  designated.  Stuart  was  prepared  to 
receive  him — canvas,  throne  and  palette  all  arranged. 
To  his  visitor's  surprise,  however,  after  surveying  him  a 
moment,  he  deliberately  seated  himself  and  commenced 
a  series  of  those  interesting  narrations  for  which  he  was 
celebrated.  Time  flew  by  and  the  annoyed  Esculapius 
heard  the  hour  chimed  when  he  should  be  with  his  ex- 
pectant patients.  At  length  he  ventured  upon  the  dan- 
gerous experiment  of  interrupting  the  irascible  but  fluent 
artist.  Mr.  Stuart,  this  is  very  entertaining,  but  you 
must  be  aware  that  my  time  is  precious.  I  feel  very  un- 
comfortable." "I  am  glad  of  it,"  replied  Stuart;  "I 
have  felt  so  ever  since  you  entered  my  studio."    "  Why  ?" 

Because  you  look  so  like  a  fool.  Disarrange  that  fixed- 
up  costume,  and  I  will  go  to  work."  His  sitter,  feeling 
the  justice  of  the  rebuke,  pulled  off"  his  stiff  cravat, 
passed  his  hand  through  his  hair,  and  threw  himself 
laughing  into  an  easy  attitude.  "  There,"  said  the  paint- 
er, catching  up  his  brush  with  alacrity  and  quite  restored 
to  good  nature  by  the  metamorphosis,  "  now  you  look  like 
yourself."  This  anecdote  illustrates  a  great  principle 
upon  which  Stuart  habitually  acted,  and  to  which  is  at- 
tributable much  of  his  success.  He  sought  expression 
in  the  intervals  of  self-consciousness,  and  considered  no 
small  part  of  the  art  of  portraiture  to  consist  in  making 


30 


ARTIST-LIFE. 


the  subject  forget  himself.  He  ventured  even  to  irritate 
Washington  by  intentional  unpunctuality,  in  order  to  en- 
liven his  serene  countenance  by  a  glow  of  displeasure, 
which  he  seized  with  avidity.  To  this  end  he  cultivated 
his  powers  of  observation  and  memory,  and  studied  hu- 
man nature  with  as  much  zeal  as  art.  He  sought  a  com- 
mand of  the  original  elements  of  expression,  and  endea- 
vored by  exciting  idiosyncrasies  to  bring  out  the  charac- 
ter, until  eye,  lip,  and  air  most  eloquently  betrayed  the 
predominant  spirit  of  the  man ;  and  this,  when  transfer- 
red to  the  canvas,  alone  realized  his  idea  of  a  portrait. 

Stuart's  name  boasts  the  less  romantic  associations  of 
the  "pungent  grains  of  titillating  dust,"  as  Pope  calls 
snuif.  A  Scotch  gentleman — one  of  those  quaint  disci- 
ples of  Boerhaave  who  were  among  the  original  settlers — 
undertook  to  practice  the  healing  art  among  the  Quaker 
colonists  of  Rhode  Island,  but  neither  his  manners,  dress, 
nor  turn  of  .mind  assimilated  with  their  severe  philosophy ; 
and  in  considering  the  most  available  expedient  within 
his  power  to  insure  a  support,  it  occurred  to  him  that  the 
large  quantity  of  snuff  annually  imported  from  Glasgow 
was  a  guarantee  that  the  article  might  be  profitably 
manufactured  here.  Accordingly,  a  sequestered  rivulet, 
at  which  the  Pequod  warriors  had  often  drank  before  they 
were  dispossessed  of  Naragansett,  was  chosen  as  the  site 
of  the  experiment.  It  appears  that  there  was  not  suffi- 
cient mechanical  skill  in  the  colony  to  erect  the  mill,  and 
the  doctor  sent  home  for  one  of  his  thrifty  countrymen 
experienced  in  the  business.    The  new  emigrant  was  the 


STUART. 


31 


father  of  Gilbert  Stuart,  to  whom  he  gave  the  middle 
name  of  Charles  to  perpetuate  his  Jacobin  opinions, 
which  the  son,  with  characteristic  waywardness,  dropped 
as  he  rose  to  fame.  Not  so,  however,  with  the  habit  thus 
early  acquired  of  taking  snuff,  which  copiously  sprinkled 
his  linen,  and,  as  in  the  case  of  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  was 
ever  resorted  to  in  the  intervals  of  story-telling,  at  the 
conclusion  of  a  witty  rejoinder,  or  as  he  leaned  back  from 
his  easel  to  observe  the  effect  of  an  hour's  limning. 

There  was  in  Stuart's  character  something  of  the  dog- 
matic spirit  which  belonged  to  Dr.  Johnson.  Indeed,  it 
would  not  be  difficult  to  establish  a  striking  parallel  be- 
tween the  two.  Decided  talent,  fertility  in  conversation, 
inveterate  prejudice,  a  rough  exterior  and  a  marked  indi- 
viduality, distinguished  alike  the  artist  and  the  author,  and 
it  is  curious  to  note  how  spontaneously  they  fell  into  an 
antagonist  position  when  chance  brought  them  together. 
Stuart,  while  a  student  in  London,  was  accidentally  intro- 
duced to  Johnson,  who,  coolly  expressing  his  surprise  that 
an  American  should  be  so  apt  in  his  vernacular,  asked 
the  youth  where  he  learned  such  good  English.  Not 
in  your  dictionary,  sir,"  was  the  indignant  reply.  Easily 
won  by  agreeable  companionship,  which  formed  his  prin- 
cipal delight,  and  of  a  really  kind  disposition  at  heart,  his 
self-esteem  instantly  resented  the  slightest  wound.  His 
pride  of  opinion  and  a  sense  of  the  dignity  of  his  voca- 
tion, or  rather  of  the  genius  of  which,  in  his  best  days, 
it  was  the  exponent,  caused  him  to  retaliate  summarily 
any  thing  that  might  be  construed  into  a  personal  affront. 


32 


ARTIST-LIFE. 


A  family  of  distinction  having  ordered  a  portrait  of  one 
of  its  leading  members,  and  capriciously  delayed  the 
promised  remuneration,  he  had  the  picture  fitted  as  a  door 
to  his  pig-sty ;  and  when  Cooke  the  tragedian  fell  asleep 
in  his  studio,  he  substituted  an  ass's  ears  for  those  of  the 
great  actor  in  the  likeness.  The  main  obstacles  against 
which  Stuart  had  to  contend  throughout  his  career  were 
his  own  perversity  and  imprudence.  In  every  exigency 
in  his  affairs,  the  best-devised  plans  which  friendship  or 
benevolence  undertook  in  his  behalf,  were  contravened  by 
the  artist's  wilfulness,  and  thus  many  sincerely  interested 
in  his  welfare  were  alienated.  While  abroad,  in  early 
life,  and  especially  during  a  jovial  sojourn  in  Ireland,  he 
acquired  convivial  habits  which  sometimes  interfered  es- 
sentially with  his  professional  success.  If  his  vigorous 
intellect  had  been  sustained  by  methodical  industry,  there 
would  have  been  more  equality  in  his  efforts  and  less 
vicissitude  in  his  fortunes.  But  the  social  man  and  the 
devotee  of  art  were  at  frequent  war,  although  perhaps 
there  never  was  an  instance  where  the  one  was  so  happi- 
ly made  subsidiary  to  the  other.  His  talk  "  drew  the 
soul  to  the  surface."  He  was  a  proficient  in  knowledge. 
of  character,  and  whether  statesman  or  mariner,  soldier 
or  agriculturist  occupied  the  chair,  he  discussed  political 
affairs,  dangers  by  flood  and  field,  or  the  state  of  crops, 
with  such  zest  and  so  many  attractive  illustrations  from 
his  store  of  anecdote,  that  each  auditor  in  turn  became 
perfectly  at  home,  and  exhibited  his  most  characteristic 
appearance.    Alternately  residing  in  the  principal  cities 


STUART. 


33 


of  America,  after  a  visit  to  Great  Britain,  he  enjoyed  fa- 
miliar intercourse  with  the  leading  minds  of  the  day,  on 
both  sides  of  the  water.  Obliged  at  one  time  to  become 
an  organist  in  London  for  bare  subsistence,  at  another 
commanding  prices  second  only  to  Reynolds  and  Gains- 
borough, and  overwhelmed  with  profitable  commissions ; 
with  a  strong  physical  organization,  and  that  sharp,  prac- 
tical insight  which  distinguishes  the  Scotch  character,  a 
lingerer  at  the  banquet  and  a  keen  student  of  art — his  life 
abounds  in  the  most  skilful  achievements  and  the  most 
eccentric  irregularities. 

In  portrait-painting  Stuart  illustrated  the  most  valu- 
able principles,  and  in  endeavoring  to  seize  upon  these, 
it  must  be  remembered  that  he  painted  indifferent  works 
enough  to  have  ruined  the  credit  of  any  artist  whose  abi- 
lity had  been  less  unequivocally  manifested.  His  main 
idea  was  to  interpret  for  himself,  and  represent  ac- 
cording to  his  own  free  perception.  "  I  wish,"  he  said, 
"to  find  out  what  Nature  is  for  myself,  and  see 
her  with  my  own  eyes.  Nature  may  be  seen  through 
different  mediums.  Rembrandt  saw  with  a  different  eye 
from  Raphael,  and  yet  they  are  both  excellent — but  for 
dissimilar  qualities."  Upon  this  judicious  and  liberal 
view  Stuart  habitually  worked.  His  best  portraits  are, 
therefore,  glimpses  of  character.  Even  those  heads 
which  time  has  robbed  of  all  intensity  of  expression,  he 
seems  to  have  restored  without  any  sacrifice  of  truth — as 
in  the  case  of  the  elder  Adams.  It  was  this  feeling  for 
the  original,  this  loyalty  to  individual  conviction  as  the 

3 


34 


ARTIST-LIFE. 


source  of  excellence,  that  led  him  to  prefer  the  unschool- 
ed criticism  which  his  works  received  at  home,  where  he 
said — "  they  were  compared  with  nature,  of  which  they 
were  direct  imitations,  instead  of  being  estimated,  as 
abroad,  by  their  approach  to  Titian  and  Vandyke." 

Quick  of  apprehension,  discriminating  and  rhetorical, 
Stuart,  when  he  chose  to  exert  the  valuable  quality,  could 
exercise  rare  tact  both  in  the  labors  of  his  art  and  the 
pleasures  of  society.  He  had  great  command  of  satire, 
and  where  he  could  not  win  by  entertaining,  found  no  dif- 
ficulty in  exciting  a  fear  of  ridicule  which  checked  the 
machinations  of  enmity.  This  accounts  for  the  different 
impression  he  created,  according  as  the  individual  was 
fascinated  or  frightened.  He  possessed  the  hardihood  ra- 
ther than  the  susceptibility  of  genius,  and  effected  his  tri- 
umphs by  the  force  of  a  comprehensive  mind,  which  takes 
in  all  the  relations  of  a  subject  and  attains  a  complete  in- 
stead of  a  fragmentary  result.  Allston  said  of  him  that  he 
could  thoroughly  distinguish  the  accidental  from  the  per- 
manent— no  insignificant  merit  in  portrait  painting.  It  is 
acknowledged  that  his  likeness  of  Washington  is  the  only 
just  representation  of  a  countenance  wherein  the  tranquil- 
lity of  self-approval  blends  with  wisdom  and  truth,  so  as  to 
form  a  moral  ideal  in  portraiture  as  the  character  was  in 
life.  It  is  lamentable  that  such  inadequate  copies  of  this 
head  have  gone  abroad,  owing  in  some  instances  to  the 
inability  of  engravers,  and  in  others  to  the  use  of  spuri- 
ous originals.  It  was  the  last  of  his  portraits  of  Wash- 
ington alone  with  which  Stuart  expressed  any  satisfac- 


STUART. 


35 


tion.  He  promised  to  present  it  to  the  family  when  fin- 
ished, and  with  a  humorous  shrewdness  in  accordance 
with  his  character,  left  the  head  alone  upon  the  broad 
canvas,  in  order  to  retain  what  he  justly  deemed  his  most 
invaluable  trophy. 


TRUMBULL. 


Art,  in  its  comprehensive  sense,  appears  designed  to 
vindicate  nature.  A  genius  for  action,  when  thwarted 
by  physical  or  moral  inaptitude,  is  often  happily  exhi- 
bited through  the  imagination.  Thus  poetry  has  been 
defined  as  the  expression  of  unattained  desire ;  and  it  is 
no  small  consolation  to  enthusiasts,  when  denied  a  career, 
to  represent  adequately,  in  language  or  colors,  the  events 
in  which  they  would  have  fain  taken  part.  The  love  of 
glory  is  as  evident  in  the  subjects  which  artists  choose  to 
illustrate,  as  in  the  patient  toil  they  devote  to  renown, 
and  it  is  not  more  difficult  to  infer  the  modesty  or  ambi- 
tion of  a  painter  than  his  taste.  The  dominant  idea  with 
Trumbull  in  his  artistic  labors,  was  to  memorialize  great 
events.  He  was  endowed  to  sympathize  with  these.  By 
early  association  he  was  identified  with  that  peculiar  tone 
of  character — blending  a  keen  sense  of  honor  with  a 
spirit  of  enterprise,  that  marked  our  revolutionary  epoch. 
He  inherited  a  strong  national  feeling.  To  remarkable 
quickness  of  perception,  habits  of  study,  and  a  thirst 
for  distinction,  he  united  a  decided  talent  for  drawing. 


TRUMBULL. 


37 


but,  apparently,  little  of  that  intense  love  of  the  beautiful, 
or  deep  enthusiasm  for  art,  which  distinguish  more  gifted 
painters. 

There  are  more  satisfactory  themes  for  the  poet  and 
artist  than  war  affords  ;  but  the  cause  for  which  a  battle 
is  waged,  and  the  results  of  a  single  contest,  often  give 
vast  moral  interest  to  its  very  name.  The  prominent 
events  of  our  revolutionary  era  have  this  character  ;  and 
to  have  portrayed  any  of  them  with  truthfulness  and 
effect,  is  no  ordinary  distinction.  Such  is  the  feature  of 
Colonel  Trumbull's  artist-life.  Engravings  have  ren- 
dered his  pictures  so  familiar,  that  it  is  unnecessary 
to  enumerate  or  discuss  them.  They  have  but  inconsi- 
derable claims  to  lofty  conception  or  original  beauty,  and 
merit  attention  chiefly  as  veritable  glimpses  of  actual 
men  and  events,  which  have  exercised  a  wonderful 
agency  upon  human  welfare.  In  fact,  Trumbull's  life 
was  one  of  various  action,  and  his  military  title  and  di- 
plomatic reputation,  mingle  rather  incongruously  with  the 
serene  avocation  to  which  his  intervals  of  business 
were  given.  It  is  natural  that  he  should  have  gratified 
his  patriotism  and  adventurous  instinct  in  employing  his 
pencil  upon  the  memorable  themes  of  our  history.  We 
can  with  difficulty  imagine  a  man  whose  time  and 
thoughts  were  so  constantly  employed  in  affairs,  turning 
readily  to  landscape  or  still-life,  while  historical  subjects 
at  once  would  awaken  a  familiar  interest.  His  reason- 
ing far  transcended  his  imaginative  powers.  Skill, 
rather  than  fancy,  marks  his  pictures.    His  father  was 


38 


ARTIST-LIFE. 


not  wrong  in  supposing  him  fitted  to  shine  in  the  legal 
profession.  Even  in  painting  we  discern  the  practical 
turn  of  his  mind  ;  and  he  was  more  of  an  engineer  than 
a  poet.  When  his  education  was  completed,  it  was  long 
before  he  could  reconcile  himself  to  a  merely  studious 
course  ;  and  after  having  left  the  army,  he  acknowledges 
that  the  sound  of  a  drum  often  called  a  tear  to  his  eye. 
Burke  advised  him  to  study  architecture,  in  order  to 
minister  to  the  exigencies  of  a  new  and  growing  coun- 
try ;  and  there  is  reason  to  believe  he  would  have  ex- 
celled in  this  branch.  The  suggestion  did  not,  however, 
coincide  with  the  idea  of  glory  he  was  fond  of  attaching 
to  art.  To  realize  the  vicissitudes  of  Trumbull's  life,  it 
is  only  necessary  to  recall  some  of  the  occupations  in 
which  he  was  at  various  periods  engaged.  From  school- 
master of  a  Connecticut  village  he  became  an  adjutant; 
from  secretary  of  legation,  circumstances  transform- 
ed him  to  a  brandy  merchant,  and  from  a  treaty 
commissioner  abroad  to  a  portrait  painter  at  home. 
Meantime,  he  had  sketched  Indians  and  Rhine  scenery, 
copied  celebrated  originals,  journalized,  and  travelled 
— flown  over  a  battle-field  with  nothing  but  a  handker- 
chief wound  around  his  head — suffered  imprisonment — 
been  threatened  more  than  once  with  shipwreck,  and  en- 
joyed the  society  of  the  leading  men  of  his  own  country 
and  Europe. 

As  regards  social  advantages,  indeed,  Trumbull, 
through  life,  was  greatly  favored.  His  official  relations, 
as  well  as  his  pursuit  of  art,  brought  him  into  intimate 


TRUMBULL. 


39 


contact  with  the  most  distinguished  of  his  time.  In  the 
flush  of  youth  he  was,  for  a  brief  period,  aid-de-camp  to 
Washington.  Fox  and  his  illustrious  rival  visited  him 
when  incarcerated  in  London.  He  disputed  Jefferson's 
atheistical  philosophy  at  his  own  table,  and  had  long  con- 
versations with  Madame  de  Stael,  Talleyrand,  Sheridan, 
and  other  celebrities.  Sir  Joshua  criticised  and  compli- 
mented him  ;  Governor  Hancock  visited  his  sick-bed  ; 
Lafayette  confided  to  him  the  secrets  of  French  politics, 
and  David  rescued  him  from  the  police  of  Paris.  He 
was  morbidly  sensitive,  and  this,  with  a  certain  pride  of 
character,  involved  him  in  many  disputes,  and  led  him 
abruptly  to  leave  the  army,  in  consequence  of  the  injus- 
tice of  Congress ;  while  others  equally  meritorious,  like 
General  Schuyler,  suffered  worse  treatment  patiently, 
for  the  sake  of  the  great  cause  in  which  they  were 
engaged.  He  was  gloomy  in  youth,  and  it  was  in  no 
small  degree  through  his  ambition  that  art  captivated  his 
mind.  While  a  schoolboy,  reading  of  Zeuxis  and  Ap- 
pelles,  in  an  obscure  country  town,  he  conceived  the 
desire  to  be  a  painter.  This  predilection  was  confirmed 
by  the  sight  of  Copley — whose  portraits  were  the  first  spe- 
cimens of  the  art  he  ever  saw — in  a  splendid  wed- 
ding-suit. As  to  his  juvenile  practice,  it  began  with 
drawing  figures  on  the  sanded  floor  of  his  nursery. 

He  experienced  the  truth  of  his  father's  remark, 
while  dissuading  him  from  the  pencil — that  Connecticut 
was  not  Athens ;  yet  no  artist  in  this  country  ever 
received  such  an  amount  of  government  patronage.  The 


40 


ARTIST- LIFE 


proceeds  of  his  four  pictures,  thirty-two  thousand  dollars, 
were  honorably  appropriated  to  the  liquidation  of  his 
debts;  and  by  an  arrangement  with  Yale  College,  he 
secured  an  annuity  adequate  to  his  support  during  the 
remainder  of  his  life.  His  perseverance  and  industry 
were  remarkable.  The  former  quality,  however,  in- 
duced the  same  error  as  with  Copley — that  of  prolonging 
his  labors  after  his  ability  to  do  himself  justice  had 
ceased.  Even  if  a  Gil  Bias  had  been  at  hand,  he  would 
not  probably  have  consulted  him  on  the  expediency  of 
commencing  a  new  series  of  pictures  of  revolutionary 
subjects  at  the  age  of  seventy-two.  Before  that  period 
he  had  served  his  generation  enough  to  satisfy  a  just 
ambition.  He  had  been  engaged  in  the  opening  of  the 
war  of  independence,  rendered  essential  aid  as  a  com- 
missioner under  Jay's  treaty,  and  taken  an  active  and 
honorable  part  in  public  affairs  throughout  his  life.  He 
had  been  made  a  prisoner  of  war  as  an  offset  to  the 
lamented  Andre,  and  taken  counsel  with  the  most  influ- 
ential spirits  of  an  exciting  era,  on  subjects  of  vast 
moment. 

Trumbull's  initiation  into  life  was  stormy,  and  his 
early  impressions  indelible.  He  witnessed  the  ravages 
of  pestilence  at  Crown  Point,  and  studied  the  picturesque  by 
the  light  of  a  burning  forest,  on  his  midnight  watch. 
His  first  promising  attempt  in  oil  was  a  copy  of  Cardinal 
Bentivoglio's  portrait  in  Harvard  College  library  ;  and 
that  which  made  him  known  as  an  efficient  draughtsman, 
was  a  sketch  of  the  relative  positions  of  the  two  armies 


TRUMBULL. 


41 


on  the  eve  of  the  battle  of  Bunker  Hill.  It  is  as  the  lim- 
ner of  occurrences  like  this  that  Trumbull  became 
celebrated.  He  created  no  marvels  of  beauty.  He  left 
behind  no  wonderful  reflections  of  nature.  But  he  trans- 
ferred to  canvas  the  features  of  those  extraordinary  men 
whose  wisdom  and  valor  guided  to  a  triumphant  issue  the 
struggles  of  an  oppressed  people.  He  delineated  scenes 
the  details  of  which  are  deeply  interesting  to  the  world ; 
and  snatched  many  a  face  endeared  to  patriotism,  from 
oblivion, — thus  illustrating  the  utility  of  an  art  whose  ideal 
heights  it  was  not  given  him  to  reach. 

The  education  and  experience  of  Trumbull  fostered 
his  natural  integrity  and  precision,  and  these  qualities 
marked  his  habits  and  manners,  and  are  evident  in  his 
pictures.  His  sense  of  honor  and  idea  of  correctness 
were  extreme.  Hence  the  accuracy  of  his  portraits  and 
grouping.  In  his  latter  days,  before  age  had  subdued  his 
energy,  he  was  a  type  of  the  revolutionary  character — 
proud,  intelligent,  and  conscientious.  Fertile  in  reminis- 
cence, scrupulous  in  intercourse,  and  dignified  in  bearing, 
he  was  among  the  last  representatives  of  the  Hamilton 
school  of  politics,  and  his  patriotic  feelings  and  admiration 
of  Washington  were  undying  sentiments.  The  apathy 
with  which  his  claims  were  recognized  as  an  artist,  doubt- 
less somewhat  warped  his  views,  and  they  were  often  in- 
sisted on  with  a  pertinacity  that  seemed  unreasonable. 
To  a  liberal  mind,  however,  the  circumstances  that  at- 
tended his  long  and  varied  career,  sufficiently  account  for 

3* 


42 


A  RTIST-LIFE. 


the  captious  spirit  into  which  he  was  occasionally  be- 
trayed ;  and  it  should  never  be  forgotten  that  he  left  an 
invaluable  bequest  to  his  country,  and  that  his  artist-life 
is  indissolubly  associated  with  men  and  events  which  the 
progress  of  time  only  renders  more  sacred. 


ALLSTON. 


Noble  specimens  of  Art  as  are  many  of  Allston's 
pictures,  to  one  who  regards  the  tendencies  and  effect  of 
his  entire  character,  they  serve  rather  as  suggestions  than 
a  complete  representation  of  the  man.  Yet  had  we  no 
other  evidence  of  the  spirit  he  was  of,  when  rightly  con- 
templated, all  might  be  inferred.  And  perhaps  no  better 
proof  of  their  superiority  could  be  adduced  than  this  very 
fact,  that  they  not  only  bear  but  invite  study,  grow  upon 
the  imagination,  and  haunt  the  memory.  There  is  some- 
times a  kind  of  beaming  atmosphere  radiated  from  the 
human  countenance  when  fervent  emotions  warm  its  fea- 
tures. It  is  a  kind  of  expressiveness  which  makes  the 
halos  around  the  saints  and  virgins  of  the  old  masters 
scarcely  appear  unnatural — the  soulful  intelligence  to 
which  the  poet  refers  when  he  describes  spiritual  elements 
as  informing  the  body  "till  all  be  made  immortal the 
loveliness  created  by  sentiment,  that  Wordsworth  recog- 
nizes in  the  rustic  heroine  of  whom  he  says,  "  beauty 
born  of  murmuring  sound  shall  pass  into  her  face."  In 
our  view,  this  evanescent  charm  is  the  richest  humanity 
can  wear.    An  ordinary  artist  can  imitate  form  and  give 


44 


ARTIST-LIFE. 


US  the  brow,  eye  and  lip,  which  are  symmetrical  but  un- 
varying. It  requires  more  profound  sympathy  with  the 
mysteries  of  being,  to  appreciate  the  transitory  and  signifi- 
cant indications  of  the  beautiful  in  expression — that  which 
is  the  immediate  offspring  of  moral  and  intellectual  life. 
Men  of  reflection  and  sensibility  are  won  by  this  alone, 
because  it  allies  itself  with  permanent  associations,  is  a 
revelation  of  the  soul  itself;  and  if  the  hopeful  specula- 
tions of  Swedenborg  in  regard  to  a  future  world  have  any 
basis  in  truth,  by  it  may  we  know  even  there  the  loved 
and  lost.  In  seizing  this  magnetic  principle,  this  divine 
glow,  and,  as  it  were,  atmosphere  of  the  countenance, 
Allston  was  remarkably  successful.  His  Beatrice,  Ro- 
salie, and  Spanish  girl,  seem  kindled  into  beauty  by  the 
simple  genuineness  of  their  feelings.  Certain  objects 
and  effects  of  his  pictures — as  seen  when  they  were  par- 
tially collected  for  exhibition  several  years  since — have 
never  passed  from  our  minds.  The  transparent  atmos- 
phere of  the  Swiss  landscape,  so  true  to  the  peculiarities 
of  Alpine  scenery ;  the  moonlight  reflected  on  the  water 
beneath  a  bridge  ;  the  love-warm  tints  that  play  around 
Lorenzo  and  Jessica ;  the  inimitable  foot  of  the  scribe 
in  Jeremiah  ;  the  keen  gray  eyes  and  speaking  beards  of 
the  Israelites,  and  the  eloquent  figure  of  Miriam,  are 
images  that  linger  brightly  to  the  inward  vision,  and  thus 
prove  themselves  a  portion  of  the  realities  of  Art. 

In  the  moral  economy  of  life,  sensibility  to  the  beau- 
tiful must  have  a  great  purpose.  If  the  Platonic  doctrine 
of  pre-existence  be  true,  perhaps  ideality  is  the  surviving 


A  L  L  S  T  O  N 


45 


element  of  our  primal  life.  Some  individuals  seem  born 
to  minister  to  this  influence,  which,  under  the  name  of 
beauty,  sentiment,  or  poetry,  is  the  source  of  what  is  most 
exalting  in  our  inmost  experience  and  redeeming  in  our 
outward  life.  Does  not  a  benign  Providence  watch  over 
these  priests  of  nature  ?  They  are  not  necessarily  re- 
nowned. Their  agency  may  be  wholly  social  and  pri- 
vate, yet  none  the  less  efficient.  We  confess  that,  to  us,  few 
arguments  for  the  benevolent  and  infinite  design  of  exist- 
ence are  more  impressive  than  the  fact  that  such  beings 
actually  live,  and  wholly  unfitted  as  they  are  to  excel  in 
or  even  conform  to  the  Practical,  bear  evidence,  not  to  be 
disputed,  of  the  sanctity,  the  tranquil  progress  and  the 
serene  faith  that  dwell  in  the  Ideal.  Allston  was  such  a 
man.  By  profession  he  was  a  painter,  and  his  works 
overflow  with  genius;  still  it  would  be  difficult  to  say 
whether  his  pen,  his  pencil,  or  his  tongue  chiefly  made 
known  that  he  was  a  prophet  of  the  true  and  beautiful. 
He  believed  not  in  any  exclusive  developement.  It  was 
the  spirit  of  a  man,  and  not  his  dexterity  or  success,  by 
which  he  tested  character.  In  painting,  reading,  or 
writing,  his  mornings  were  occupied,  and  at  night  he  was 
at  the  service  of  his  friends.  Beneath  his  humble  roof, 
in  his  latter  years,  there  was  often  a  flow  of  wit,  a  com- 
munity of  mind,  and  a  generous  exercise  of  sympathy 
which  kings  might  envy.  To  the  eye  of  the  multitude 
his  life  glided  away  in  secluded  contentment,  yet  a  pre- 
vailing idea  was  the  star  of  his  being — the  idea  of  beauty. 
For  the  high,  the  lovely,  the  perfect,  he  strove  all  his  days. 


46 


ARTIST-LIFE. 


He  sought  them  in  the  scenes  of  nature,  in  the  master- 
pieces of  literature  and  art,  in  habits  of  life,  in  social 
relations,  and  in  love.  Without  pretence,  without  elation, 
in  all  meekness,  his  youthful  enthusiasm  chastened  by 
suffering,  he  lived  above  the  world.  Gentleness  he  deemed 
true  wisdom,  renunciation  of  all  the  trappings  of  life,  a 
duty.  He  was  calm,  patient,  occasionally  sad,  but  for 
the  most  part,  happy  in  the  free  exercise  and  guardian- 
ship of  his  varied  powers.  The  inequality  of  Allston's 
efforts,  and  his  frequent  cessation  from  labor,  have  been 
the  subject  of  no  little  reproach.  The  habits  of  no  man, 
and  especially  a  man  of  genius,  can  be  rightly  judged 
when  viewed  objectively.  To  ascertain  the  strata  of  a 
geological  formation,  and  explain  the  workings  of  a  mind, 
are  two  very  different  processes.  Observation  alone  is 
required  for  the  former,  but  sympathy  is  absolutely  needed 
for  the  latter.  It  is  astonishing  that  with  the  new  light 
modern  science  has  thrown  upon  physiology,  it  is  so  sel- 
dom taken  into  view  when  mental  phenomena  are  discuss- 
ed. There  is  no  fact  better  established  than  that  the 
integrity  of  the  nervous  system  is  necessary  to  the  felici- 
tous exercise  of  mind.  Yet  biographers  and  critics  seem 
blind  to  its  influence.  This  delicate  medium  of  intellec- 
tual activity  is  refined  and  sensitive  in  all  rarely  endowed 
beings,  for  vivid  impressions  are  the  source  of  their  power, 
and  to  these  a  susceptible  organization  is  essential.  When 
our  illustrious  painter  went  to  London,  he  threw  himself 
ardently  into  the  pursuit  of  his  art.  In  order  to  work 
undisturbed,  he  adopted  the  practice  of  the  country  and 


A  L  L  S  T  O  N  . 


47 


took  no  refreshment  between  early  morning  and  evening. 
The  long  intervals  of  abstinence,  to  which  he  was  pre- 
viously unaccustomed,  combined  with  intense  application 
and  great  mental  excitement,  produced  a  chronic  derange- 
ment of  the  digestive  organs,  and  when  he  retired  to 
ClifFton  in  pursuit  of  health,  his  medical  adviser  prophe- 
sied that  he  would  never  again  experience  the  blessing. 
Immediately  subsequent,  a  domestic  bereavement  still 
farther  reduced  his  vital  energy,  and  from  this  period  he 
could  only  exercise  his  profession  when  temporary  vigor 
nerved  his  frame.  But  his  was  a  nature  to  which  inac- 
tivity was  unknown.  When  not  ostensibly  employed,  he 
was  meditating  subjects  upon  which  to  engage  his  pencil, 
revolving  a  speculative  theory,  or  pouring  forth  the  trea- 
sures of  his  experience  for  the  advantage  of  others. 

There  is  a  beautiful  progression  manifest  in  the  taste 
and  views  of  Allston.  It  is  said  that  his  youthful  inti- 
macy with  Malbone,  while  passing  his  college  vacations 
at  Newport,  was  the  occasion  of  his  first  resolve  to  devote 
himself  to  art.  His  original  turn  was  for  comic  scenes — 
a  circumstance  observable  in  the  case  of  several  religious 
painters.  The  sense  of  humor  is  developed  before 
deeper  feelings  awaken.  Art,  like  all  things  else,  pre- 
sents itself  to  the  young  fancy  as  a  pastime  rather  than  a 
mission.  A  certain  love  of  the  supernatural  appears, 
however,  to  have  been  characteristic  of  Allston.  It  dis- 
played itself  at  first  in  the  numerous  wild  scenes  he  loved 
to  depict,  of  which  the  prominent  figures  were  always 
banditti.    Gradually  this  feeling  assumed  a  higher  scope, 


48 


ARTIST-LIFE. 


as  his  Witch  of  Endor  and  Spalatro  evidence,  and,  at 
length,  it  seems  to  have  become  hallowed  by  more  sacred 
emotions,  until  it  aspired  to  embody  those  conceptions  of 
which  prophets  are  the  exponents,  and  holy  reverence  the 
motive.  The  great  principle  of  his  career  was  individu- 
ality, and  this  is  one  secret  of  his  fame.  He  did  not 
suffer  the  immediate  to  interfere  with  the  essential.  He 
vowed  allegiance  to  no  school,  and  knew  how  to  revere 
without  servilely  imitating.  What  surrounded  never 
encroached  upon  what  was  within.  That  "the  only  com- 
petition worthy  of  a  wise  man  is  with  himself,"  was  one 
of  his  favorite  maxims.  With  a  spirit  of  generous 
appreciation,  a  truly  catholic  love  of  the  beautiful,  and  an 
instinctive  recognition  of  merit,  he  yet  felt  that  to  be  true 
to  himself  was  his  greatest  privilege  and  highest  duty. 
He  estimated  praise  at  its  just  value,  and  while  its  sincere 
expression  cheered,  it  never  blmded  him.  There  was  an 
ideal  in  his  soul,  the  least  approach  to  which  was  more 
satisfactory  than  the  most  eloquent  panegyric.  He  had 
ever  in  view  a  goal  of  excellence  that  grew  more  distant 
as  he  approached.  To  the  dexterity  of  the  artist  he 
united  the  aspirations  of  the  poet.  With  a  rare  sensibility 
to  pleasure,  he  combined  an  ardent  love  of  truth.  The 
law  of  progress  is  the  charter  of  such  a  man,  and  faith  in 
the  unattained  a  ceaseless  inspiration.  The  details  of  the 
career  of  an  artist  like  this,  fade  before  the  harmonious 
influence  of  the  man.  The  interest  of  his  character 
renders  the  mere  events  of  his  life  comparatively  unat- 
tractive.   His  writings  and  pictures,  by  not  a  few  indi- 


A  L  L  S  T  0  N  . 


49 


viduals,  are  less  cherished  tokens  of  his  existence  than 
the  impulse  his  communion  gave  to  their  minds,  or  the 
earnestness  of  aim  his  precepts  and  example  awakened 
in  their  hearts.    It  is  still  a  question  what  form  of  intel- 
lectual sway  is  most  desirable.    The  press  in  modern 
times  often  exercises  greater  power  than  the  pulpit,  and 
the  silent  eloquence  of  art  sometimes  grows  tame  before 
the  almost  inspired  words  of  genius.    The  colloquial  gifts 
of  Allston  were  not  the  least  remarkable  of  his  endow- 
ments.   What  he  had  seen  and  felt — the  truth  gained  by 
long  wrestling  with  reality — the  perception  born  of  inter- 
course with  the  grandeur  of  the  universe — the  love  cre- 
ated by  fond  relations  with  the  beautiful — the  dramatic 
incident,  the  moral  impression,  the  glorious  faith  ;  all  that 
life  and  nature,  society  and  thought  had  revealed  to  that 
wise  and  feeling  soul,  came  forth,  at  the  genial  hour,  from 
his  lips,  full  of  vitality  and  grace.    His  ready  sympathy 
with  the  humblest  brother  in  art,  and  the  unconscious 
fertility  of  his  conversation,  rendered  his  society  a  source 
of  improvement  and  pleasure  such  as  it  is  the  lot  of  few 
men  to  afford,  and  now  memorable  and  endeared  by  the 
heritage  of  his  fame. 

A  visit  to  Italy  is  perhaps  more  of  an  epoch  in  the 
life  of  an  American  artist  than  in  that  of  any  other.  The 
contrast  between  the  new  and  old  civilization,  the  diversi- 
ty in  modes  of  life,  and  especially  the  more  kindling 
associations  which  the  enchantment  of  distance  and  long 
anticipation  occasion,  make  his  sojourn  there  an  episode 
in  life.    The  education  and  ideality  of  Allston  rendered 


50 


ART  I  ST -LIFE. 


these  influences  peculiarly  operative,  and,  accordingly, 
he  was  wont  to  revert  to  this  penod  of  his  life  with  great 
interest.  While  in  Rome  he  was  the  daily  companion  of 
Coleridge,  and  their  intercourse  was  the  subject  of  de- 
lightful reminiscence  to  both  ever  after.  We  may  easily 
imagine  the  ^'  feast  of  reason"  ihey  enjoyed  at  sunset  on 
the  Pincian — in  the  calm  grandeur  of  St.  Peters — upon 
the  deserted  area  of  the  Colisseum,  and  amid  the  silent 
company  that  peoples  with  beauty  the  long  corridors  of 
the  Vatican.  What  an  infinity  of  subjects  must  there 
have  been  suggested  !  The  universality  of  the  religious 
instinct :  the  philosophy  of  art ;  the  destiny  of  man  ;  the 
progress  of  freedom  ;  the  laws  of  beauty  ;  the  immortali- 
ty of  the  soul — these  and  kindred  themes  rise,  as  it  were, 
spontaneously  as  one  wanders  over  the  wrecks  of  empires. 
The  road  once  strewn  with  flowei's  to  greet  the  coronation 
of  Laura's  bard — the  convent  where  Tasso  died — the 
cupola  that  Michael  Angelo  hung  in  air — the  ivy-grown 
walls  of  Csesar's  palace — how  must  they  have  inspired 
in  such  men,  deep  colloquies  over  time  and  eternity  !  Nor 
less  to  spirits  of  such  poetic  mould  did  the  emblems  of 
the  beautiful  appeal.  Angelic  features  beaming  from 
mouldering  frescos — the  iris  hovering  over  the  fountain — 
the  gay  weed  flaunting  above  the  temple's  broken  floor — 
the  deep  blue  sky  and  violet  haze  resting  upon  the  dis- 
tant mountain,  a  Magdalen's  golden  hair  or  Madonna's 
patient  smile,  and  the  soul-parted  lips  of  the  Apollo,  were 
endless  sources  of  grateful  comment  and  sympathetic 
admiration.    The  Alps  yielded  yet  another  memorable 


A  L  L  S  T  O  N  . 


51 


lesson  to  the  painter's  heart,  and  the  choicest  society  of 
England  ministered  to  his  expanding  intellect,  while  every 
where  and  always,  the  beautiful  in  nature  caught  his  eye, 
and  the  attractive  in  humanity  won  his  love. 

We  have  frequently  alluded  to  the  relation  existing 
between  color  and  language  as  a  medium  of  expression. 
Allston  exemplified  their  affinity  in  his  productions.  The 
fluency  and  aptitude  of  his  conversation  has  been  already 
noticed,  and  his  literary  productions  display  the  same 
traits.  Had  he  given  equal  attention  to  writing  as  to 
painting,  his  success  in  the  former  would  doubtless  have 
been  eminent.  "  Monaldi,"  a  tale,  numerous  letters,  and 
a  few  poems — all  the  offspring  of  occasional  respite  from 
the  pursuit  of  art — are  distinguished  for  graphic  power, 
deep  insight,  and  a  tasteful  style.  In  the  tale,  particular- 
ly, there  are  many  passages  wherein  the  painter  reveals 
himself  in  a  very  pleasing  way.  The  local  descriptions 
and  dialogues  on  art,  indicate  how  much  reflection  he 
had  bestowed  upon  his  vocation.  No  slight  acquaint- 
ance with  the  development  of  human  passion  and  senti- 
ment is  evinced  in  the  characters.  His  heroine  re- 
minds us  irresistibly  of  his  happiest  female  creations, 
overflowing  with  the  spiritual  warmth  of  his  coloring  and 
an  ideal  loveliness  of  expression.  His  sonnets  are  inte- 
resting as  records  of  personal  feeling.  They  eloquently 
breathe  sentiments  of  intelligent  admiration  or  sincere 
friendship  ;  while  the  longer  poems  show  a  great  com- 
mand of  language  and  an  exuberant  fancy. 


52 


A  R  T  I  S  T  -  L  1  F  E  . 


On  his  return  to  America,  the  life  of  our  illustrious 
painter  was  one  of  comparative  seclusion.  The  state  of 
his  health,  devotion  to  his  art,  and  a  distaste  for  promis- 
cuous society  and  the  bustle  of  the  world,  rendered  this 
course  the  most  judicious  he  could  have  pursued.  His 
humble  retirement  was  occasionally  invaded  by  foreign- 
ers of  distinction,  to  whom  his  name  had  become  precious  ; 
and  sometimes  a  votary  of  letters  or  art  entered  his  dwell- 
ing, to  gratify  admiration  or  seek  counsel  and  encourage- 
ment. To  such,  an  unaffected  and  sincere  welcome  was 
always  given,  and  they  left  his  presence  refreshed  and 
happy.  The  instances  of  timely  sympathy  which  he  af- 
forded young  and  baffled  aspirants,  are  innumerable. 

Allston's  appearance  and  manners  accorded  perfectly 
with  his  character.  His  form  was  slight  and  his  move- 
ments quietly  active.  The  lines  of  his  countenance,  the 
breadth  of  the  brow,  the  large  and  speaking  eye,  and  the 
long  white  hair,  made  him  an  immediate  object  of  interest. 
If  not  engaged  in  conversation,  there  was  a  serene  abstrac- 
tion in  his  air.  When  death  so  tranquilly  overtook  him, 
for  many  hours  it  was  difficult  to  believe  that  he  was  not 
sleeping,  so  perfectly  did  the  usual  expression  remain. 
His  torch-light  burial  at  Mount  Auburn  harmonized,  in 
its  beautiful  solemnity,  with  the  lofty  and  sweet  tenor  of 
his  life. 


A  L  L  S  T  0  N  . 


ON  THE  DEATH  OF  ALLSTON. 

The  element  of  beauty  which  in  thee 

Was  a  prevailing  spirit,  pure  and  high, 
And  from  all  guile  had  made  thy  being  free. 

Now  seems  to  whisper  thou  canst  never  die ! 
For  Nature's  priests  we  shed  no  idle  tear, 

Their  mantles  on  a  noble  lineage  fall ; 
Though  thy  white  locks  at  length  have  pressed  the  bier, 

Death  could  not  fold  thee  in  Oblivion's  pall : 
Majestic  forms  thy  hand  in  grace  arrayed. 

Eternal  watch  shall  keep  beside  thy  tomb, 
And  hues  aerial  that  thy  pencil  stayed, 

Its  shades  with  Heaven's  radiance  illume  ; 
Art's  meek  apostle,  holy  is  thy  sway. 
From  the  heart's  records  ne'er  to  pass  away ! 


MALBONE. 


Of  late  years  few  places  of  summer  resort  in  the 
country,  have  proved  more  attractive  than  Nev^^port,  R.  I., 
and  its  natural  scenery  and  climate  amply  justify  the 
preference  which  fashion  has  accorded.  English  visitors 
find  something  in  the  air  like  that  of  the  Isle  of  Wight, 
and  its  saline  humidity,  besides  refreshing  the  languid 
frame  in  the  sultry  months,  proves  singularly  efficacious 
to  a  large  class  of  invalids,  and  has  so  favorable  an  influ- 
ence upon  the  complexion  that  the  place  has  been  long 
celebrated  for  the  beauty  of  its  women.  The  sportsman 
and  lover  of  the  picturesque  find  there  more  than  ordinary 
gratification.  The  latter  cannot  fail  to  remember  with 
pleasure  the  scene  presented  on  fine  summer  evenings  at 
those  favorite  spots,  named  "Purgatory,"  "Paradise,'^  and 
especially  the  "  Glen."  The  deep  valley  so  called  is  as 
sweet  a  bit  of  inland  scenery  in  its  way,  as  the  country 
affords.  In  the  afternoon,  when  the  lateral  sunshine  plays 
through  the  surrounding  foliage,  the  old  mill  and  clear 
stream  form  an  admirable  study  for  the  landscape  painter. 
A  foreign  artist,  who  allowed  us  a  short  time  since  to  in- 


M  A  L  B  O  N  E  . 


55 


spect  the  contents  of  his  portfolio,  confirmed  these  impres- 
sions by  the  number  of  beautiful  sketches  of  cliffs,  inlets, 
and  ledges  of  rock  which  he  had  gleaned  in  the  vicinity 
as  material  for  compositions.  Nor  is  Newport  destitute 
of  interesting  associations.  Berkeley  sojourned  there  a 
century  ago ;  and  it  was  there  that  George  Fox  chal- 
lenged Roger  Williams  to  meet  him  and  discuss  their  re- 
spective tenets.  The  ancient  tower,  about  which  so  much 
speculative  wisdom  has  been  exercised,  now  lives  in  the 
polished  numbers  of  Longfellow,  having  suggested  the 
theme  of  his  best  poem.  A  synagogue  and  cemetery, 
that  are  kept  in  perfect  order,  according  to  the  testamen- 
tary provision  of  a  wealthy  Israelite,  though  utterly  aban- 
doned, are  striking  memorials  of  the  now  extinct  band  of 
Jews  who  once  lived  and  worshipped  there  ;  while  a  gra- 
nite shaft  rising  from  amid  the  funereal  tablets  of  many 
generations  in  the  old  burying-ground,  indicates  to  the 
stranger  where  the  remains  of  the  gallant  Perry  repose. 

It  is  easy  to  imagine  how  desirable  a  residence  the 
town  must  have  been  to  a  man  of  contemplative  habits, 
before  the  capricious  tide  of  fashion  disturbed  its  wonted 
quietude.  Like  many  places  on  our  eastern  border,  it 
became  prosperous  at  the  time  commerce  with  the  West 
Indies  was  at  its  height,  and  with  the  decay  of  that  profit- 
able branch  of  traffic  its  activity  decreased,  and  a  sort  of 
sleepy-hollow  tranquillity  settled  upon  the  inhabitants. 
Perhaps  the  great  charm  of  Newport  is  its  famous  beach. 
To  watch  the  waves  when  lashed  into  fury  by  the  storm, 
or  as  they  come  only  to  break  into  gay  sparkles  upon  the 


56 


ARTIST-LIFE. 


warm  sands,  is  a  pastime  of  which  no  lover  of  the  beau- 
tiful can  weary.  The  briny  coolness  of  the  air,  and  the 
deep  monotone  of  the  lapsing  waters,  have  in  them  some- 
thing impressive  to  the  most  thoughtless.  Dr.  Chan- 
ning,  in  his  beautiful  address  at  the  dedication  of  a 
church  in  Newport,  attributes  the  most  salutary  impres- 
sions of  his  early  life  to  meditations  on  this  very  spot. 
The  best  hours  of  his  youth  were  those  passed  in  the  sol- 
itude of  the  Redwood  Library,  where  sometimes  for  whole 
days  his  reading  was  uninterrupted  by  a  single  visitor  ; 
and  the  musings  in  which  he  indulged  in  his  lonely  walks 
along  the  strand.  At  the  distance  of  many  years  he  thus 
Vividly  recalls  his  communion  with  the  mysteries  of 
nature.  The  symphonies  of  the  everlasting  sea,  as  they 
rose  upon  his  youthful  ear,  dwelt  like  a  perpetual  anthem 
in  his  soul,  and  essentially  sustained  its  consistent  eleva- 
tion. Another  child  of  genius  haunted  this  shore,  whose 
fame  was  recalled  during  the  last  summer,  by  the  circum- 
stance of  one  of  its  trophies  being  offered  for  sale.  Few 
works  of  art  of  the  kind  have  enjoyed  so  wide  a  reputa- 
tion as  Malbone's  "Hours,"  and  hundreds  availed  them- 
selves of  the  opportunity  to  behold  it,  when  it  was  an- 
nounced in  Newport,  that  the  gem  would  be  raffled  for. 
We  are  happy  to  record  the  fact  that  the  successful 
competitor  proved  to  be  one  of  the  artist's  family,  to 
whom  it  is  endeared  by  the  most  tender  remembrances, 
and  whom  necessity  alone  compelled  to  part  with  it. 
Thus  they  realized  a  handsome  sum,  and  still  retained 
the  precious  legacy.    This  lovely  work  was  executed  by 


M  A  L  B  O  NE . 


57 


Malbone  during  his  studious  visit  to  London.    It  repre- 
sents the  Hours  in  the  shape  of  three  beautiful  females  in 
the  act  of  moving  in  a  circle,  the  one  in  front  being  the 
Present,  and  her  companions,  the  Past  and  Future.  The 
grace  of  the  design  it  is  not  easy  to  describe.    The  sweet 
expression  of  the  faces  and  the  delicacy  of  the  coloring 
are  inimitable.    A  more  charming  emblem  of  Time  we 
have  never  seen,  excepting  Guide's  celebrated  picture. 
Instead  of  a  grim  old  man  with  a  scythe,  we  have  three 
fair  girls.    They  are  emphatically  the  "  rosy  hours," 
such  as  poetry  chronicles  and  love  inspires,  redolent  of 
hope  and  overflowing  with  promise.    It  was  impossible  to 
dwell  upon  the  work,  and  trace  the  eloquent  traits  of  a 
sensitive  and  gifted  mind,  without  reverting  to  the  brief 
yet  memorable  life  of  him  who  haunted  the  adjacent 
beach  while  a  child,  in  search  of  colored  pebbles,  from 
which  to  paint  and  design  little  pictures  to  hang  round 
the  necks  of  the  prettiest  girls  in  school.    In  later  years, 
Malbone  made  frequent  excursions  in  the  neighborhood 
with  his  friend  Allston,  who  has  left  the  warmest  testi- 
mony to  his  generosity  and  intelligence.    His  predilection 
for  art  was  at  first  discouraged  at  home,  and  there  was 
certainly  but  little  around  him  to  suggest  any  method  of 
imitating  the  visible  beauty  so  familiar  to  his  childhood. 
He  received  the  hint  at  last  from  the  scenic  effects  of  a 
theatre.    These  excited  his  boyish  curiosity,  and  when 
the  process  was  discovered,  he  found  no  difficulty  in 
crudely  trying  an  experiment  for  himself.    The  result 
was,  that  the  intervals  of  his  school  occupations  were  de- 

4 


58 


ARTIST-L  IFE. 


voted  to  scene-painting,  to  the  great  advantage  of  the 
manager,  the  wonder  of  his  relatives,  and  his  own  perfect 
delight.  This  was  a  singular  introduction  to  the  depart- 
ment of  art  in  which  he  was  chiefly  gifted.  The  broad- 
est effects  obtained  by  the  coarsest  expedients,  would  seem 
but  an  inadequate  initiation  to  the  delicate  touches  of  min- 
iature, and  practice  in  wielding  the  whitewash  brush, 
one  would  suppose,  might  unfit  the  hand  for  a  camel's 
hair  pencil.  Malbone  appears,  however,  to  have  passed 
from  one  to  the  other  with  wonderful  facility  ;  for  while 
yet  a  youth,  finding  no  scope  in  his  native  town,  he  went 
to  Providence,  and  in  a  brief  period,  took  his  family  by 
surprise  in  achieving  quite  a  local  reputation  as  a  minia- 
ture painter.  Of  his  ultimate  success  in  the  art  he  had 
never  felt  the  slightest  distrust,  confidently  predicting  to 
his  jeering  companions,  from  the  first,  his  own  future  em- 
inence. From  this  period  it  was  pursued  with  consistent 
ardor  and  steadily  progressive  success.  Malbone  possess- 
ed a  beautiful  equanimity  of  soul,  and  manners  of  rare 
amenity.  In  the  cultivated  society  of  Charleston  he  found 
immediate  recognition  and  sympathy,  and  in  all  the  prin- 
cipal cities  of  his  native  land,  are  scattered  the  cherished 
tokens  of  his  genial  labors,  associated  with  the  most  pleas- 
ing memories  of  his  gentle  and  wise  companionship. 

In  the  department  of  art  he  selected,  excellence  is 
comparatively  rare  and  mediocrity  insufferable.  Malbone 
has  best  illustrated  it  in  this  country,  and  the  most  judi- 
cious critics  abroad  and  at  home,  unite  in  awarding  the 
palm  to  his  mature  labors.    His  social  tendencies  never 


M  A  L  B  O  N  E  . 


59 


interfered  with  the  assiduous  exercise  of  his  vocation,  nor 
did  success  for  a  moment  blind  him  to  the  claims  of  af- 
fection or  the  behests  of  duty.  He  was  a  discriminating 
cultivator  of  music  and  poetry.  Sedentary  life  early  de- 
ranged the  springs  of  a  naturally  elastic  constitution,  and 
when  he  at  length  yielded  his  fascinating  pursuit,  and  re- 
turned lo  the  scenes  of  his  boyhood,  to  idle  away  the  sum- 
mer in  recruiting  his  exhausted  strength,  it  proved  too 
late.  A  southern  climate  was  recommended,  and  he  em- 
barked for  Jamaica.  As  all  hope  of  recovery  vanished, 
the  desire  to  realize  the  eastern  benediction  and  die 
among  his  kindred,  grew  strong,  and  he  rallied  his  feeble 
energies  for  a  homeward  voyage,  but  died  in  May,  1807, 
at  the  age  of  thirty-two,  after  reaching  Savannah,  two 
days  after  his  passage  had  been  taken  for  the  north. 

There  is  no  more  common  error  than  to  estimate  lite- 
rature and  art  by  the  tangible  space  they  fill.  The  point 
to  which  genuine  taste  is  legitimately  directed  is  quality. 
The  world  has  had  quite  sufficient  of  merely  voluminous 
authors  and  artists  whose  chief  merit  is  their  elaborate 
designs.  A  few  masterly  lyrics,  the  offspring  of  a  felici- 
tous and  perhaps  never-recurring  mood,  float  upon  the 
daily  tide  of  life,  while  hundreds  of  ponderous  epics  are 
moored  in  stagnant  obscurity.  There  are  brief  yet-  sig- 
nificant melodies  that  haunt  the  memory  after  every  trace 
of  long  scientific  compositions  has  vanished.  A  scimetar 
may  do  as  much  execution  as  a  battle-axe.  -Some  poet 
has  said  that  "gentleness  is  power;"  the  same  is  true  of 
refinement  in  art.    It  is  the  peculiar  charm  of  miniatures 


60 


ARTIST-LIFE. 


that  they  are  usually  sacred  to  affection,  treasured  in  the 
casket,  and  not  exposed  on  the  wall.  If  as  trophies  of  art 
they  are  less  widely  known,  they  are  more  deeply  cher- 
ished. When  wrought  with  great  delicacy  and  truth, 
they  are  invaluable,  and  may  be  as  characteristic  as 
more  ostentatious  productions.  What  a  perfect  lyric  is 
in  poetry,  the  miniature  is  in  painting.  The  unity  of  the 
design  and  the  complete  and  exquisite  finish  of  the  execu- 
tion, make  it  as  truly  the  offspring  of  genius.  It  is  art 
concentrated  and  etherealized  ;  and  when  hallowed  by 
the  associations  of  love,  the  witness  of  secret  tears,  the 
talisman  that  opens  the  floodgates  of  memory  or  kindles 
the  torch  of  hope,  a  miniature  is  often  the  one  priceless 
gem  among  the  jewels  of  fortune. 


V ANDERL YN. 


The  results  of  all  professional  toil  should  be  judged 
according  as  they  spring  from  necessity  or  will.  It  is 
one  thing  to  write  or  paint  in  order  to  meet  a  passing  ex- 
igency, and  quite  another  spontaneously  to  give  "  a  local 
habitation  and  a  name  "  to  thought  and  feeling,  that  crave 
utterance  for  their  own  sake.  Hence  in  all  worthy  criti- 
cism, it  is  absolutely  necessary  to  discriminate  between 
these  two  species  of  labor.  In  literature,  the  demands  of 
occasion,  however  cleverly  supplied,  afford  na  scope  to 
the  man  of  genius.  Compare  a  review  of  Sydney  Smith's 
with  his  sermons,  a  lyric  of  Campbell's  with  one  of  his 
biographies,  or  a  letter  of  Walpole's  with  his  romance. 
In  the  fine  arts  also,  there  are  certain  expedients  to  which 
the  needs  of  the  moment  compel  a  resort ;  and  they ,  in- 
spire so  little  interest,  that  the  artist  seldom  does  himself 
any  justice  in  the  premises.  It  is  on  this  account  that  al- 
most every  gifted  devotee  of  liberal  pursuits,  deliberately 
selects  certain  themes  to  unfold  in  the  spirit  of  individu- 
ality and  love,  and  consecrates  his  better  moments  to  a  few 
enterprises  v^hich  enlist  his  best  powers,  and  afford  per- 


62  ARTIST-LIFE. 

manent  trophies  of  renown.  Thus  Dante  conceived  his 
immortal  epic ;  and  Collins  his  classic  ode. 

A  course  like  this  is  indispensable  for  the  American 
artist.  The  call  for  masterpieces  in  the  more  elevated 
branches  of  painting  and  sculpture,  is  altogether  too  cas- 
ual to  afford  the  means  of  subsistence,  even  to  the  most 
patient  industry.  Recourse  must  be  had  to  designing 
and  portraiture,  and  only  the  intervals  of  such  labor  given 
to  more  exalted  aims.  If  this  be  done  with  zeal  and  in- 
telligence, enough  may  be  accomplished  to  secure  a  her- 
itage of  fame,  and  yield  the  blissful  consciousness  of  true 
success.  Creations  thus  wrought  out,  apart  from  the 
mechanical  routine  of  professional  life,  the  offspring  of 
lofty  ambition  and  lonely  self-devotion,  have  the  life  and 
soul  of  their  authors  in  them,  redeem  their  misfortunes, 
and  perpetuate  their  names. 

Such  are  the  Marius  and  Ariadne  of  Vanderlyn.  It 
would  be  difficult  to  imagine  two  single  figures  more  un- 
like in  the  impression  they  convey,  or  indicating  greater 
versatility  of  genius.  The  one  embodies  the  Roman  cha- 
racter in  its  grandest  phase,  that  of  endurance  ;  and  sug- 
gests its  noblest  association,  that  of  patriotism.  It  is  a 
type  of  manhood  in  its  serious,  resisting  energy  and  in- 
domitable courage,  triumphant  over  thwarted  ambition, — 
a  stern,  heroic  figure,  self-sustained  and  calm,  seated  in 
meditation  amid  prostrate  columns  which  symbolize  his 
fallen  fortunes,  and  an  outward  solitude  which  reflects  the 
diesolation  of  his  exile  ;  the  other  an  ideal  of  female 
beauty  reposing  upon  the  luxury  of  its  own  sensations, 


VANDERLYN. 


63 


lost  in  a  radiant  sleep,  and  yielding  with  child-like  self- 
abandonment  to  dreams  of  love  : 

How  like  a  vision  of  pure  love  she  seems  ! 

Her  cheek  just  flushed  with  innocent  repose. 
That  folds  her  thoughts  up  in  delicious  dreams. 

Like  dew-drops  in  the  chalice  of  a  rose  ; 
Pillowed  upon  her  arm  and  raven  hair, 

How  archly  rests  that  bright  and  peaceful  brow  ; 
Its  rounded  pearl  defiance  bids  to  care. 

While  kisses  on  the  lips  seem  melting  now  : 
Prone  in  unconscious  loveliness  she  lies. 

And  leaves  around  her  delicately  sway  ; 
Veiled  is  the  splendor  of  her  beaming  eyes. 

But  o'er  the  limbs  bewitching  graces  play  : 
Ere  into  Eden's  groves  the  serpent  crept. 
Thus  Eve  within  her  leafy  arbor  slept  ! 

Vanderlyn  is  a  native  of  Kingston,  N.  Y.,  and  his 
early  predilection  for  art  was  confirmed  after  removing 
to  the  metropolis,  by  familiarity  with  the  engravings  col- 
lected in  the  warehouse  of  a  friend.  After  three  years 
devoted  to  the  rudiments  of  his  profession  under  a  compe- 
tent teacher,  he  executed  several  portraits  of  distinguished 
Americans.  It  is  a  striking  coincidence,  that  among 
those  who  first  appreciated  his  talents,  and  encouraged 
their  development,  were  two  individuals,  remembered  for 
very  different  qualities,  but  alike  in  possessing  the  insight 
and  the  sympathy  which  readily  makes  fellowship  with 
genius, — the  author  of  Hasty  Pudding  and  the  Columbiad, 
and  the  subtle  lawyer  and  ambitious  politician, — Joel  Bar- 


64 


ARTIST-LIFE. 


low  and  Aaron  Burr.  Many  years  of  Vanderlyn's  life 
have  been  passed  abroad.  Paris  has  been  his  favorite 
residence ;  and  his  last  work  was  there  executed  for  one 
of  the  panels  of  the  Capitol.  It  represents  the  "Landing 
of  Columbus,"  and  though  excellent  in  parts,  is  a  respect- 
able, rather  than  a  great  picture. 

There  is  what  may  be  called  a  physiognomy  in  cities. 
Viewed  from  an  eminence,  the  manner  in  which  the 
houses  cluster,  and  the  streets  diverge,  the  architecture 
of  the  towers  which  rise  above  the  dense  and  monotonous 
buildings,  the  kind  of  country  which  surrounds,  and  sky 
which  canopies  the  scene,  are  so  many  distinctive  fea- 
tures which  mark  the  picture.  It  is  a  pleasant  thing  to 
note  observantly  renowned  sites  in  this  expansive  way. 
By  so  doing  the  memory  is  stored  with  impressive  ima- 
ges, and  possessed  with  what  may  be  called  the  natural 
language  of  an  interesting  locality.  In  looking,  for  in- 
stance, from  the  top  of  the  Capitol  upon  Rome,  the  time- 
worn  monuments  immediately  below,  and  the  range  of 
broken  aqueducts  spanning  the  far  Campagna,  instantly 
revive  the  associations  of  ancient  Rome ;  the  lines  of  cy- 
presses and  firs  that  spring  at  intervals  from  palace  and 
convent  gardens,  awaken  Christian  memories ;  while  the 
adjacent  domes  and  houses  assure  the  spectator  that  he  is 
surrounded  by  modern  civilization.  Thus  simultaneously 
he  realizes  the  poetry  of  the  scene,  which,  explored  in 
detail,  yielded  food  for  curiosity,  rather  than  sublime 
emotion.  The  prospect  from  the  campanile  of  Venice 
also  brings  into  effective  contrast,  the  sea  espoused  in  the 


VANDERLYN. 


65 


day  of  her  prosperity,  and  associated  with  all  her  glory, 
the  radiant  heavens  and  transparent  atmosphere  which 
taught  Veronese  and  Titian  the  mysteries  of  color,  and 
the  oriental  style  of  architecture,  the  most  expressive  tro- 
phy of  her  eastern  triumphs.  The  verdant  hills  which 
embosom  Florence,  and  the  boundless  plains  which  stretch 
in  all  directions  around  Milan,  as  seen  from  the  cathe- 
dral, are  features  which  eloquently  illustrate  the  history  of 
each,  and  whether  alive  with  soldiery  to  the  imagination, 
or  green  with  luxuriant  vegetation  to  the  eye,  are  requi- 
site to  fill  out  the  landscape  for  both. 

These  scenic  enjoyments  have  been  widely  dissemi- 
nated by  modern  art,  and  panoramas  of  the  famous  cities 
and  scenery  of  the  world  render  them  familiar  to  un- 
travelled  multitudes.  The  accuracy  and  illusions  of 
these  experiments  are  sometimes  marvellous.  We  re- 
member, several  years  since,  at  Paris,  to  have  gazed 
upon  a  panorama  of  the  Alps,  for  a  long  time,  beneath 
which  some  goats  were  browsing  on  the  line,  as  it  were, 
of  the  rich  valley  over  which  the  mountain  pinnacles 
towered  in  the  most  perfect  aerial  perspective — in  the 
vain  attempt  to  distinguish  the  point  of  separation  be- 
tween the  real  and  the  portrayed.  As  exhibition  works, 
panoramas  are  very  desirable.  They  afford  satisfactory 
though  general  ideas,  gratify  intelligent  curiosity,  and 
appeal  most  vividly  to  the  imagination.  It  is  not  sur- 
prising that  those  of  Jerusalem,  Athens,  and  Rome, 
attracted  such  crowds  both  here  and  abroad.  When  ar- 
tistically designed,  they  are  invaluable  aids  to  the  student 

4* 


G6 


ARTIST- LIFE. 


of  geography,  and  a  source  of  infinite  delight  to  the  en- 
thusiast for  hallowed  regions,  which  it  is  not  in  his  power 
to  visit.  After  having  received  the  Napoleon  gold  medal 
for  his  Marius,  at  Paris,  Vanderlyn  conceived  the  idea 
of  availing  himself  of  the  existent  taste  for  panoramic 
exhibitions,  by  executing  one  on  a  grand  scale,  of  the 
celebrated  residence  of  the  French  Kings.  He  accord- 
ingly employed  several  months  at  Versailles  in  preparing 
the  necessary  sketches,  and  after  the  peace  of  1815,  re- 
turned with  them  to  America.  The  result  was  satis- 
factory to  such  a  degree,  that  he  formed  a  project  for  an 
institution  in  New- York,  devoted  to  this  and  similar  ob- 
jects; and  views  of  Paris,  Athens,  Mexico,  and  Geneva, 
as  well  as  three  modern  battle  pieces,  were  successively 
exhibited  at  the  Rotund  a,  a  building  which  the  artist 
erected  in  conjunction  with  the  city  government.  Like 
most  alliances  between  men  of  totally  diverse  aims  and 
feelings — this  partnership  was  disastrous,  especially  as 
regards  the  artist ;  who  lived  to  see  the  structure  he  had 
dedicated  to  the  fine  arts,  transformed  into  a  criminal  court. 
It  would  be  a  needless  exercise  of  patience  to  enumerate 
the  series  of  mortifying  controversies  and  pecuniary 
troubles  growing  out  of  this  unfortunate  enterprise.  De- 
voted to  his  art,  and  full  of  the  sympathies  inspired  by 
the  recognition  he  had  epjoyed  in  Europe,  the  painter  of 
Marius  and  Ariadne  was  made  to  realize  in  a  painful 
manner,  the  antagonism  between  an  essentially  practical 
community  and  the  spirit  of  trade  and  artistic  enthusi- 
asm.   "A  sense  of  impossibility  quenches  all  will," 


VANDERLYN. 


67 


says  an  acute  writer.  Vanderlyn  does  not  seem  to  have 
been  fully  aware,  until  sad  experience  forced  the  con- 
viction upon  his  mind,  that  the  stage  of  civilization,  the 
history  of  the  republic,  and  inevitable  circumstances 
rendered  it  quite  impossible  for  the  cause  of  Art  to  find 
its  just  position,  and  the  practical  acknowledgment  of 
its  claims,  at  the  period  when  he  urged  them  upon  his 
fellow-citizens.  Utility,  the  basis  of  national  growth, 
still  demanded  an  exclusive  regard ;  the  time  had 
scarcely  arrived  when  the  superstructure  of  the  beauti- 
ful could  be  reared.  Meantime,  the  political  advantages, 
mechanical  genius,  and  commercial  activity  of  the  United 
States  were  the  source  of  universal  wonder  and  con- 
gratulation. Yet  we  can  easily  forgive  the  ardent  votary 
of  a  noble  art,  after  successful  competition  for  its  highest 
foreign  honors,  for  yielding  to  a  feeling  of  disappoint- 
ment, bitter  in  proportion  to  his  natural  sensitiveness,  at 
the  indifference  and  calculation  against  which  he  so 
vainly  strove  in  the  land  of  his  nativity.  This  distrust 
was  increased  by  the  charge  of  indelicacy  somewhat 
grossly  urged  against  his  works,  by  ignorant  prudery, 
which,  destitute  of  the  soul  to  perceive  the  essential 
beauty  of  the  creator's  masterpieces,  has  yet  the  hardi- 
hood to  impugn  the  motives  of  genius,  and  desecrate  by 
vulgar  comments,  the  most  beautiful  evidences  of  its 
truth. 


MORSE. 


When  Allston  was  painting  his  "  Dead  Man  restored 
to  Life/'  in  London,  he  first  modeled  the  figure  in  clay, 
and  explained  to  Morse,  who  was  then  his  pupil,  the  ad- 
vantages resulting  from  a  plan  so  frequently  adopted  by 
the  old  masters.  His  young  countryman  was  at  this 
time  meditating  his  first  composition — a  dying  Hercules — 
and  proceeded  at  once  to  act  upon  this  suggestion.  Hav- 
ing prepared  a  model  that  exhibited  the  upper  part  of  the 
body — which  alone  would  be  visible  in  the  picture — he 
submitted  it  to  Allston,  who  recognized  so  much  truth  in 
the  anatomy  and  expression,  that  he  urgently  advised  its 
completion.  After  six  weeks,  by  careful  labor,  the  statue 
was  finished,  and  sent  to  West  for  inspection.  That 
venerable  artist,  upon  entering  the  room,  put  on  his  spec- 
tacles, and  as  he  walked  around  the  model,  carefully 
examining  its  details  and  general  effect,  a  look  of  genuine 
satisfaction  beamed  from  his  face.  He  rang  for  an  at- 
tendant and  bade  him  call  his  son.  Look  here,  Raphael," 
he  exclaimed,  as  the  latter  appeared  ;  "  did  I  not  always 
tell  you  that  every  painter  could  be  a  sculptor  ?"  We 


MORSE. 


69 


may  imagine  the  delight  of  the  student  at  such  commenda- 
tion. The  same  day  one  of  his  fellow-pupils  called  his  at- 
tention to  a  notice  issued  by  the  Adelphi  Society  of  Arts, 
offering  a  prize  for  the  best  single  figure  to  be  modeled  and 
sent  to  the  rooms  of  the  association  within  a  certain  period. 
The  time  fixed  would  expire  in  three  days.  Morse  profit- 
ed by  the  occasion,  and  placed  his  dying  Hercules  with 
the  thirteen  other  specimens  already  entered.  He  was 
consequently  invited  to  the  meeting  of  the  society  on  the 
evening  when  the  decision  was  to  be  announced ;  and 
received  from  the  hands  of  the  Duke  of  Norfolk,  the  pre- 
siding officer,  and  in  the  presence  of  the  foreign  ambassa- 
dors, the  gold  medal.  Perhaps  no  American  ever  started 
in  the  career  of  an  artist  under  more  flattering  auspices ; 
and  we  cannot  wonder  that  a  beginning  so  successful  en- 
couraged the  young  painter  to  devote  himself  assiduously 
to  study,  with  a  view  of  returning  to  his  own  country 
fully  prepared  to  illustrate  the  historical  department  of 
the  art. 

An  illustrious  aspirant  had  been  assured,  but  a  few 
years  previous,  when  he  announced  a  similar  purpose  to 
the  President  of  the  Royal  Academy,  that  he  had  come  a 
great  way  to  learn  how  to  starve.  Indeed,  so  limited  was 
the  number  of  individuals  who  at  that  period  felt  any  true 
interest  in  the  fine  arts  on  this  side  of  the  Atlantic,  and 
so  completely  were  the  energies  of  our  young  nation  ab- 
sorbed in  trade  and  politics,  that  an  enterprise  like  that 
which  unfolded  itself  to  the  sanguine  hopes  of  Morse, 
\night  well  be  deemed  chimerical.    But  he  was  then 


70 


ARTIST-LIFE. 


breathing  an  atmosphere  of  sympathy;  he  enjoyed  the 
friendship  and  instruction  of  men  distinguished  for  their 
knowledge  and  ability,  and  who  had  reached  in  England, 
the  eminence  at  which  he  aimed.  His  application  was 
not,  therefore,  chilled  by  any  painful  doubts  of  future 
success,  might  he  but  live  to  prove  himself  worthy  of  the 
high  service  to  which  he  thus  earnestly  dedicated  his  life. 

A  striking  evidence  of  the  waywardness  of  destiny  is 
afforded  by  the  experience  of  this  artist,  if  we  pass  at 
once  from  this  early  and  hopeful  moment  to  a  very  re- 
cent incident.  He  then  aimed  at  renown  through  devo- 
tion to  the  beautiful,  but  it  would  seem  as  if  the  genius 
of  his  country,  in  spite  of  himself,  led  him  to  this  object, 
by  the  less  flowery  path  of  utility.  He  desired  to  identify 
his  name  with  art,  but  it  has  become  far  more  widely 
associated  with  science.  A  series  of  bitter  disappoint- 
ments obliged  him  to  coin  his  mind  for  bread  " — for  a 
long  period,  by  exclusive  attention  to  portrait  painting — 
although,  at  rare  intervals,  he  accomplished  something 
more  satisfactory.  More  than  twelve  years  since,  on  a 
voyage  from  Europe,  in  a  conversation  with  his  fellow- 
passengers,  the  theme  of  discourse  happened  to  be  the 
electro-magnet;  and  one  gentleman  present  related  some 
experiments  he  had  lately  witnessed  at  Paris,  which 
proved  the  almost  incalculable  rapidity  of  movement 
with  which  electricity  was  disseminated.  The  idea  sug- 
gested itself  to  the  active  mind  of  the  artist  that  this 
wonderful  and  but  partially  explored  agent,  might  be  ren- 
dered subservient  to  that  system  of  intercommunication 


MORSE. 


71 


which  had  become  so  important  a  principle  of  modern  civili- 
zation. He  brooded  over  the  subject  as  he  walked  the 
deck  or  lay  wakeful  in  his  berth,  and  by  the  time  he  ar- 
rived at  New-York,  had  so  far  matured  his  invention  as 
to  have  decided  upon  a  telegraph  of  signs  which  is  es- 
sentially that  now  in  use.  After  having  sufficiently  de- 
monstrated his  discovery  to  the  scientific,  a  long  period  of 
toil,  anxiety  and  suspense  intervened  before  he  obtained 
the  requisite  facilities  for  the  establishment  of  the  Mag- 
netic Telegraph.  It  is  now  in  daily  operation  in  the  United 
States,  and  its  superiority  over  all  similar  inventions 
abroad,  has  just  been  confirmed  by  the  testimony  of  Arago 
and  the  appropriation  made  for  its  erection  by  the  French 
government.  By  one  of  those  coincidences,  which  would 
be  thought  appropriate  for  romance,  but  which  are  more 
common,  in  fact,  than  the  unobservant  are  disposed  to 
confess,  these  two  most  brilliant  events  in  the  painter's 
life — his  first  successful  work  of  art  and  the  triumph  of 
his  scientific  discovery — were  brought  together,  as  it  were, 
in  a  manner  singularly  fitted  to  impress  the  imagination. 
Six  copies  of  his  dying  Hercules  had  been  made  in  London, 
and  the  mould  was  then  destroyed.  Four  of  these  were 
distributed  by  the  artist  to  academies,  one  he  retained, 
and  the  last  was  given  to  Mr.  Bulfinch,  the  architect  of 
the  Capitol — who  was  engaged  at  the  time  upon  that 
building.  After  the  lapse  of  many  years,  an  accident 
ruined  Morse's  own  copy,  and  a  similar  fate  had  overtaken 
the  others,  at  least  in  America.  After  vain  endeavors 
to  regain  one  of  these  trophies  of  his  youthful  career,  he 


72 


ARTIST-LIFE. 


at  length  despaired  of  seeing  again  what  could  not  fail  to 
be  endeared  to  his  memory  by  the*  most  interesting  asso- 
ciations. One  day,  not  many  months  since,  he  was 
superintending  the  preparations  for  the  first  establishment 
of  his  telegraph,  in  the  room  assigned  at  the  Capitol. 
His  perseverance  and  self-denying  labor  had  at  length 
met  its  just  reward,  and  he  was  taking  the  first  active 
step  to  obtain  a  substantial  benefit  from  his  invention. 
It  became  necessary  in  locating  the  wires,  to  descend  into 
a  vault  beneath  the  apartment,  which  had  not  been  opened 
for  a  long  period.  A  man  preceded  the  artist  with  a  lamp. 
As  they  passed  along  the  subterranean  chamber,  the  lat- 
ter's  attention  was  excited  by  something  white  glimmer- 
ing through  the  darkness.  In  approaching  the  object, 
what  was  his  surprise  to  find  himself  gazing  upon  his 
long-lost  Hercules,  which  he  had  not  seen  for  twenty 
years.  A  little  reflection  explained  the  apparent  miracle. 
This  was  undoubtedly  the  copy  given  to  his  deceased 
friend,  the  architect,  and  deposited  in  the  vault  for 
safety. 

Those  who  are  fond  of  localities  attractive  from  hav- 
ing been  the  abodes  of  men  whose  names  are  enrolled  on 
the  scroll  of  human  benefactors,  should  not  pass  with  in- 
difference No.  8  Buckingham  Place,  Fitzroy  Square.  It 
has  been  the  residence  of  successive  American  painters 
for  thirty  years,  and  not  long  since  the  landlady  pre- 
served on  the  walls,  the  portraits  of  Leslie  and  Morse. 
The  friendship  of  these  two  painters  is  interesting,  and 
helps  to  brighten  the  golden  link  which  associates  the 


MORSE . 


73 


name  of  the  latter  with  the  first  dawn  of  Art  in  this 
republic — a  period  which  we  trust  will  one  day  have  an 
importance  in  critical  history,  from  the  glory  we  are  con- 
fident our  nation  will  yet  shed  upon  this  sphere  of  cul- 
ture. Morse  went  abroad  under  the  care  of  Allston,  and 
was  the  pupil  of  West  and  Copley.  Hence  he  is  natu- 
rally regarded  by  a  later  generation  as  the  connecting 
bond  that  unites  the  present  and  the  past  in  the  brief 
annals  of  our  artist-history.  But  his  claim  to  such  a 
recognition  does  not  lie  altogether  in  the  fact  that  he  was 
a  pioneer ;  it  has  been  worthily  evidenced  by  his  constant 
devotion  to  the  great  cause  itself.  Younger  artists  speak 
of  him  with  affection  and  respect,  because  he  has  ever 
been  zealous  in  the  promotion  of  a  taste  for  and  a  study 
of  the  fine  arts.  Having  entered  the  field  at  too  early  a 
period  to  realize  the  promise  of  his  youth,  and  driven  by 
circumstances  from  the  high  aims  he  cherished,  misan- 
thropy was  never  suffered  to  grow  out  of  personal  disap- 
pointment. He  gazed  reverently  upon  the  goal  it  was 
not  permitted  him  to  reach  ;  and  ardently  encouraged 
the  spirit  which  he  felt  was  only  to  be  developed,  when 
wealth  and  leisure  had  given  his  countrymen  opportuni- 
ties to  cultivate  those  tastes  upon  the  prevalence  of 
which  the  advancement  of  his  favorite  pursuit  depends. 
When,  after  the  failure  of  one  of  his  elaborate  projects, 
he  resolved  to  establish  himself  in  New-York,  he  was 
grieved  to  find  that  many  petty  dissensions  kept  the  art- 
ists from  each  other.  He  made  it  his  business  to  heal 
these  wounds  and  reconcile  the  animosities  that  thus  re- 


74 


ARTIST-LIFE. 


tarded  the  progress  of  their  common  object.  He  sought 
out  and  won  the  confidence  of  his  isolated  brothers,  and 
one  evening  invited  them  all  to  his  room,  ostensibly  to 
eat  strawberries  and  cream,  but  really  to  beguile  them 
into  something  like  agreeable  intercourse.  He  had  expe- 
rienced the  good  effect  of  a  drawing  club  at  Charleston, 
where  many  of  the  members  were  amateurs  ;  and  on  the 
occasion  referred  to,  covered  his  table  with  prints,  and 
scattered  inviting  casts  around  the  apartment.  A  very 
pleasant  evening  was  the  result ;  a  mutual  understanding 
was  established,  and  weekly  meetings  unanimously 
agreed  upon.  This  auspicious  gathering  was  the  germ 
of  the  National  Academy  of  Design,  of  which  Morse  be- 
came the  first  president,  and  before  which  he  delivered 
the  first  course  of  lectures  on  the  Fine  Arts  ever  given 
in  this  country.  The  question  as  to  the  comparative 
utility  of  associations  of  patrons  and  artists,  has  been  dis- 
cussed and  tested  by  experiment  sufficiently  to  satisfy 
every  reasonable  mind  of  the  vast  superiority  of  institu- 
tions managed  by  those  best  informed  and  most  interested 
in  any  great  public  object.  The  prejudice  and  selfish 
motives  which  were  brought  to  bear  upon  the  new  society, 
failed  in  the  end,  as  they  deservedly  should.  It  would  be 
an  useless  and  ungrateful  task  to  repeat  the  details  of  the 
controversy.  Morse  was  in  a  great  measure  sacrificed 
by  the  prominent  part  he  took  in  these  transactions  ;  but 
the  Academy  has  flourished  and  is  yet  achieving  its  work 
bravely,  while  the  artists  look  upon  their  champion  with 
pride  and  sympathy.    This  was  clearly  exhibited  by 


MORSE. 


75 


their  voluntary  and  fraternal  attempt  to  console  him  for 
the  marked  neglect  of  his  claims,  when  the  original  selec- 
tion was  made  of  painters  to  fill  the  vacant  panels  of  the 
rotunda  at  Washington.  Together  with  other  friends, 
they  formed  an  association  and  gave  Morse  a  commission 
to  execute  the  painting.  Owing  to  the  non-payment  of  a 
portion  of  the  instalments,  and  to  the  injudicious  plan  of 
the  artist  to  carry  out  his  design  on  too  grand  and  expen- 
sive a  scale,  and  his  consequent  pecuniary  embarrass- 
ment, he  was  obliged  to  abandon  the  attempt.  By  a 
course  of  rigid  and  patient  economy,  highly  creditable  to 
his  integrity,  he  gradually  refunded  to  each  subscriber 
the  sum  advanced,  with  appropriate  expressions  of  grati- 
tude for  the  liberal  intention ;  and  was  thus  eminently 
true  to  himself,  in  resolutely  and  at  great  personal  sacri- 
fice, emancipating  himself  from  the  degrading  conscious- 
ness of  pecuniary  obligation. 

After  four  years  of  study  in  Europe,  Morse  had  re- 
turned to  the  United  States  from  lack  of  means  to  carry 
on  his  education  abroad.  Although  he  then  deemed  him- 
self by  no  means  a  proficient,  he  hoped,  while  pursuing 
the  course  of  improvement  so  auspiciously  commenced, 
to  obtain,  at  home,  such  employment  in  the  higher 
branches  of  his  profession  as  would  give  some  adequate 
scope  to  his  powers.  In  Boston,  however,  although  he 
was  flattered  enough  by  social  consideration,  he  received 
no  orders,  and  was  obliged,  from  sheer  necessity,  to  tra- 
vel through  New  England  and  execute  portraits  at  fifteen 
dollars  each,  and  finally  to  set  up  his  easel  at  Charleston, 


76 


ARTIST-LIFE. 


S.  C,  where  he  continued  this  employment  for  several 
years — emulating,  however,  the  more  artistic  styles  of 
portraiture  with  ample  success  and  honor.  To  keep  up 
his  practice  in  composition,  he  often  carried  his  heads  to 
the  north,  where  he  passed  every  summer  with  his  family^ 
and  there  transferred  them  to  larger  canvas — introducing 
rich  costume  or  tasteful  accessories  into  his  full  lengths, 
so  that  many  of  them  did  justice  to  his  general  ability  as 
a  painter.  Stuart  happened  to  see  one  of  these,  repre- 
senting a  young  girl  standing  amid  the  ruins  of  an  abbey 
beside  a  fawn.  The  conception  and  execution  delighted 
him,  and  his  praise  spread  its  reputation  so  widely,  that 
Morse  was  obliged  to  furnish  several  copies. 

There  is  a  Convent  of  Capuchins  at  Rome,  which  is 
visited  by  strangers  on  account  of  a  very  old  fresco,  re- 
presenting Christ  walking  on  the  waves,  and  an  excellent 
Mosaic  copy  of  Guido's  Michael  triumphing  over  Satan, 
that  adorn  the  walls.  Those  who  have  a  taste  for  hor- 
rors, also  view  the  cemetery  beneath  fantastically  orna- 
mented with  the  bones  of  deceased  friars.  But  to  the 
artist  the  church  is  memorable  for  the  fine  arrangement 
of  light,  and  the  simple  yet  effective  perspective.  On 
this  account  the  interior  is  often  sketched  and  painted, 
and  when  a  few  bearded  monks  of  the  order  are  judi- 
ciously placed  about  the  altar  and  in  the  aisles,  the  scene 
becomes  quite  impressive,  and  the  ocular  illusion  very 
pleasing.  A  French  artist  exhibited  such  a  representa- 
tion of  this  convent  in  the  United  States,  and  it  attracted 
an  extraordinary  degree  of  attention.   Morse  had  painted, 


MORSE. 


77 


when  abroad,  a  similar  picture  of  the  Louvre,  including 
the  principal  works  of  art  in  that  famous  gallery — in  mi- 
niature, but  faithful  copies — and  it  was  one  of  his  most 
successful  and  interesting  works.  The  idea  naturally 
suggested  itself  to  take  advantage  of  the  evident  taste 
recently  manifested  for  this  species  of  painting.  He  had 
laid  by  sufficient  to  enable  him  to  give  the  necessary 
time  to  the  experiment,  and  selected  for  his  subject  the 
interior  of  the  House  of  Representatives  of  the  United 
States.  It  might  have  been  reasonably  anticipated  that 
so  national  a  theme,  if  treated  with  any  success,  would 
be  popular.  The  picture  cost  nearly  two  years'  severe 
labor,  and  was  attended  with  considerable  expense. 
When  exhibited,  however — from  what  cause  does  not  ap- 
pear— it  brought  little  profit  to  the  artist,  and  he  soon 
rolled  up  the  huge  canvas  in  disgust.  When  sent  to 
England,  several  political  characters  and  men  of  taste 
among  the  nobility,  expressed  great  admiration  of  the 
work,  and  were  much  interested  in  the  portraits  intro- 
duced, which  were  very  cleverly  arranged  and  perfectly 
authentic.  After  this  signal  disappointment,  Morse  de- 
termined to  visit  Mexico,  as  an  attache  to  the  American 
Legation  ;  and  it  might  prove  a  curious  speculation  to 
imagine  what  destiny  his  active  disposition  would  have 
achieved  in  that  fertile  and  unhappy  country,  had  the 
design  been  carried  into  execution  ;  but  after  having 
made  all  needful  preparations,  taken  leave  of  his  family, 
and  even  embarked  his  stores,  the  minister  was  suddenly 
recalled  almost  ere  his  journey  had  begun,  and  the  art- 


78 


ARTIST-LIFE. 


ist  returned  home  and  eventually  abandoned  the  plan. 
In  1822-3,  Morse  was  greatly  encouraged  in  his  pur- 
suits by  the  friendly  exertions  of  the  poet  Hillhouse,  and 
received  a  public  commission  to  paint  a  portrait  of  La- 
fayette, then  on  a  visit  to  this  country.  Few  pictures 
have  ever  been  executed  under  more  painful  circum- 
stances. He  was  called  away  from  his  delightful  task  to 
attend  the  death-beds  of  his  wife  and  parent,  and  watch 
over  the  illness  of  his  children.  But  through  be- 
reavement and  "  hope  deferred,"  Morse  has  struggled 
manfully  onward,  loyal  to  his  own  convictions  and  the 
claims  of  his  profession.  He  never  believed  that  any 
thing  really  great  or  desirable  could  be  attained  save 
through  obstacles.  Courage  and  patience  have  been  his 
watchwords ;  and  although  the  snows  of  time  have 
bleached  his  hair,  the  same  intelligent  and  enterprising 
spirit,  the  same  urbane  disposition  that  endeared  him  to 
the  friends  of  his  youth,  still  cause  all  who  know  him  to 
rejoice  in  the  prospect  of  an  honorable  independence 
which  the  recent  invention  has  secured  to  his  age-. 


DUR  AND. 


Whoever  has  sailed  across  one  of  our  immense 
lakes — the  inland  seas  of  this  vast  continent — at  the  close 
of  a  day  when  summer  was  verging  into  autumn,  and 
the  keen  wind  swept  over  the  broad  waters  as  they  glowed 
with  crimson  or  saffron  in  the  magnificent  sunset,  cannot 
easily  forget  a  scene  unequaled  in  any  part  of  the  world. 
The  expanse  of  water  spreading  to  the  horizon,  see  ms 
kindled  into  transparency  by  the  warm  and  deepening 
hues  as  they  flash  unobstructed  upon  the  waves ;  as  twi- 
light comes  on,  the  view  grows  sublime,  and  when  the 
vivid  tints  gradually  vanish  in  darkness,  a  deep  and  al- 
most sacred  impression  is  left  upon  the  mind.  Durand 
gives,  in  one  of  his  landscapes  called  a  "  Lake  Scene," 
a  remarkably  happy  idea  of  a  prospect  like  this.  We 
know  not  where  his  view  is  located,  but  if  we  had  en- 
countered it  in  any  gallery  abroad,  we  should  have  in- 
stantly recognized  one  of  the  most  characteristic  phases 
of  nature  in  America.  It  is  in  musing  upon  subjects  of 
this  kind — upon  the  remarkable  natural  features  of  our 
native  land — that  we  realize  what  a  grand  field  is  here 


80  *  ARTIST-LIFE. 


presented  to  the  landscape  painter,  and  a  feeling  of  im- 
patience steals  over  us  that  comparatively  so  little  has 
been  accomplished.  The  inferiority  of  the  old  masters 
in  this  department  of  art  is  generally  acknowledged. 
While  Claude's  skies  and  the  dexterous  management  of 
Salvator's  pictures  continue  to  retain  the  admiration  they 
have  ever  excited,  numerous  modern  artists  are  distin- 
guished by  a  feeling  for  nature  which  has  made  land- 
scape, instead  of  mere  imitation,  a  vehicle  of  great  moral 
impressions.  As  modern  poets  have  struck  latent  chords 
in  the  heart  from  a  deeper  sympathy  with  humanity,  re- 
cent limners  have  depicted  scenes  of  natural  beauty,  not 
so  much  in  the  spirit  of  copyists  as  in  that  of  lovers  and 
worshipers  ;  and  accordingly,  however  unsurpassed  the 
older  painters  are  in  historical,  they  are  now  confessedly 
outvied  in  landscape.  And  where  should  this  kind  of 
painting  advance  if  not  in  this  country  1  Our  scenery 
is  the  great  object  which  attracts  foreign  tourists  to  our 
shores.  No  blind  adherence  to  authority  here  checks  the 
hand  or  chills  the  heart  of  the  artist.  It  is  only  requisite 
to  possess  the  technical  skill,  to  be  versed  in  the  alphabet 
of  painting,  and  then  under  the  inspiration  of  a  genuine 
love  of  nature  "  to  hold  communion  with  her  visible 
forms,"  in  order  to  achieve  signal  triumphs  in  landscape, 
from  the  varied  material  so  lavishly  displayed  in  our 
mountains,  rivers,  lakes,  and  forests — each  possessing 
characteristic  traits  of  beauty,  and  all  cast  in  a  grander 
mould  and  wearing  a  fresher  aspect  than  in  any  other 
civilized  land.    Among  those  who  have  turned  their 


DUR AND . 


81 


attention  in  the  right  spirit  to  this  subject  and  given  hap- 
py illustrations  of  its  fertility,  Durand  occupies  a  promi- 
nent rank. 

Engraving  is  said  to  have  originated  with  the  gold- 
smiths, who,  in  tracing  designs  upon  their  wares,  uncon- 
sciously suggested  the  method  of  reproducing  pictures 
which  has  since  been  carried  to  such  marvellous  perfec- 
tion. We  readily  understand,  therefore,  how  natural 
was  Durand's  initiation  as  an  artist,  when  informed  that 
his  father  was  a  watchmaker.  Cellini  inscribed  many 
an  exquisite  chalice  with  the  same  hand  that  moulded 
the  Perseus  ;  and  if  facility  in  mechanical  processes  and 
a  gradual  progress  from  the  humble  to  the  lofty  spheres 
of  art  be  a  desirable  education  for  a  painter,  the  early 
circumstances  of  Durand  formed  no  inadequate  basis  for 
his  ultimate  success.  It  is  a  favorite  notion  that  great 
results  are  best  attained  by  what  is  vaguely  called  inspi- 
ration, and  in  many  minds  genius  and  industry  are  an- 
tagonist principles.  The  history  of  art  proves  that  the 
highest  endowments  are  unavailing  unless  sustained  by 
proportionate  acquirements.  It  is  interesting  to  trace  the 
gradual  advancement  of  Durand  by  virtue  of  patient 
study.  There  is  a  moral  as  well  as  an  intellectual  ele- 
ment in  every  artist,  and  that  of  Durand  is  integrity  of 
purpose.  He  has  been  a  thoroughly  conscientious  work- 
man, constantly  seeking  through  experiment  to  reach  the 
highest  attainable  point  of  practical  skill.  He  never  re- 
ceived any  regular  instruction  in  drawing,  although  at  a 
very  early  age  he  scratched  some  clever  devices  on  a 

5 


82 


ARTIST-LIFE. 


powder-horn  ;  but  when  the  engraver  to  whom  he  was  ap- 
prenticed, first  placed  a  small  head  before  him  to  copy,  he 
accomplished  the  task  altogether  through  imitation,  and 
without  any  knowledge  of  rules.  His  effects  have  been 
produced  through  repeated  attempts  rather  than  from 
theoretical  ability.  His  natural  perceptions  clearly 
enough  made  known  to  him  what  was  to  be  done,  but  no 
academical  studies  revealed  the  shortest  way  to  accom- 
plish the  end  in  view.  Observation  and  perseverance 
have  been  his  best  teachers.  We  cannot  but  recognize  a 
noble  patience  in  such  a  career.  Thus  it  is  that  many 
of  our  renowned  men  in  letters  and  art  have  wrought 
their  way  to  fame,  unaided  by  public  culture  or  tasteful 
sympathy  ;  and  it  argues  a  truth  of  character  to  triumph 
over  difficulties  by  mere  force  of  purpose,  seldom  called 
for  under  the  agency  of  European  institutions.  Durand 
obtained  the  mastery  of  details  and  assiduous  habits  as 
an  engraver,  and  after  bearing  away  the  palm  of  the  art 
in  this  country,  became  distinguished  as  a  landscape 
painter — thus  reversing  the  course  usual  with  our  artists, 
who  generally  launch  into  the  mysteries  before  they  un- 
derstand the  elements  of  their  profession.  Durand  was 
probably  best  known  by  his  engraving  of  Trumbull's 

Declaration  of  Independence.''  A  higher  interest 
seems  to  us  to  attach  to  his  first  serious  effort,  which  was 

Musidora."  Unfortunately,  the  plate  was  nearly  worn 
out  by  frequent  correction,  and  but  few  effective  im- 
pressions are  in  existence.  They  suffice,  however,  to 
herald  very  significanth  uurand's  after- reputation.  His 


D  U  R  A  N  D  .  83 

object  was  to  represent  a  nude  female  figure,  modest  in 
feeling,  and  simple  in  design.  For  this  purpose  he 
selected  for  illustration  the  lines  from  Thompson's  Sea- 
sons,— 

"  with  timid  eye 

Around  surveying,  stripped  her  beauteous  limbs 
To  taste  the  lucid  coolness  of  the  flood." 

The  happy  manner  which  charms  us  in  some  of  the 
engravings  that  embellish  English  works  of  standard 
literature,  published  half  a  century  ago,  is  visible  in  this 
conception.  The  artist  finds  some  inaccuracies  in  the 
drawing,  but  he  has  cause  still  to  regard  with  compla- 
cency so  sweet  a  product  of  the  burin.  He  has  caught 
the  gracefulness  of  the  poet's  conception,  and  exhibited 
the  peculiar  flesh-like  effect  for  which  his  best  engravings 
are  so  justly  celebrated.  We  doubt  if  he  felt  quite  as 
contented  over  his  bank-note  plates  after  having  produced 
so  artistic  a  work— for,  although  he  was  employed  for 
years  in  copying  portraits,  especially  those  for  Longacre's 
"  National  Gallery,"  we  soon  find  him  in  Virginia,  trans- 
ferring to  the  canvas  the  venerable  features  of  Madison, 
and  gradually  abandoning  portrait  for  landscape.  In- 
deed, the  confined  position  incident  to  the  life  of  an  en- 
graver, weakened  too  much  a  constitution  never  robust, 
and  the  free  air  which  he  breathed  while  exploring 
scenery,  had  become  as  requisite  for  health  as  a  wider 
range  for  his  mental  development.  Before  abandoning 
his  early  sphere  of  labor,  however,  he  placed  the  seal  to 


84 


ARTIST-LIFE. 


his  merit  in  that  department  by  his  admirable  engraving 
of  Vanderlyn's  Ariadne."  It  has  been  said  that  an 
engraver  is  to  a  painter  what  a  translator  is  to  an  author. 
The  inference  is  obvious  that  the  original,  especially 
if  an  ideal  work,  can  never  be  worthily  reproduced,  un- 
less its  spirit  is  felt  and  its  conception  realized  by  him 
who  would  translate  into  a  form  for  general  circulation 
what  could  otherwise  be  only  partially  enjoyed.  These 
exacting  conditions  were  amply  fulfilled  in  the  present 
instance,  and,  as  a  natural  consequence,  no  work  of  the 
kind  is  more  justly  celebrated. 

Durand  was  born  in  Springfield,  New  Jersey.  He 
was  one  of  the  original  founders  of  the  National  Academy 
of  Design,  and  is  now  its  president.  Perhaps  we  cannot 
more  appropriately  close  this  notice  than  with  the  follow- 
ing sketch  of  a  visit  to  his  rooms  three  or  four  years  since  : 

Those  fine  old  Roman  heads ! — who  can  forget 
them  ?  For  years  have  their  possessors  lived  as  models, 
drawing  a  more  certain  subsistence  from  the  outside  of 
their  craniums  than  most  authors  do  from  their  brains. 
The  thick  locks  of  '  sable  silver,'  the  white  flowing 
beards,  the  strongly  marked  sun-burnt  faces  and  keen 
eyes — how  venerable  and  prophet-like  !  What  an  absurd 
profession  is  that  of  a  barber  !  The  man  who  first  pro- 
posed clipping  and  shaving  had  no  sense  of  the  beautiful. 
Look  at  that  handsome  brigand — how  his  embrowned  vis- 
age is  set  off  by  the  full,  curving  moustache  !  Razors 
are  a  vile  invention.  Not  satisfied  with  arraying  man  in 
a  way  the  best  calculated  to  make  him  appear  ridiculous, 


D  U  R  A  N  D. 


85 


deprived  of  every  thing  like  a  becoming  costume,  to  the 
deformities  of  tail-coat  and  round  hat,  there  must  needs 
be  added  a  gratuitous  curtailment  of  '  nature's  fair  pro- 
portions.' We  are  infinitely  obliged  to  artists  for  pre- 
serving such  semblances  of  primitive,  or  if  you  please, 
uncivilized  humanity.  But  we  are  forgetting  Durand — 
one  of  those  men  who  are  living  illustrations  of  the  say- 
ing that  ^modesty  and  merit  always  go  together.'  His 
landscapes  are  faultless.  Scan  ever  so  minutely  that 
view  of  the  Lake  of  Geneva,  and  it  seems  the  mirror  of 
reality.  How  perfect  the  aerial  perspective  !  There  is 
a  singular  tone  about  the  atmosphere  of  the  Swiss  moun- 
tains. Allston  has  caught  it  in  his  '  Alpine  Scenery.'  It 
gives  the  idea  of  the  neighborhood  of  snow,  as  the  pecu- 
liar blue  of  the  water  indicates  its  birth  from  the  melted 
ice  of  the  hills.  In  this  picture  Durand  has,  with  rare 
fidelity,  represented  this  local  characteristic.  It  is  suffi- 
cient of  itself  to  identify  the  scene.  In  his  late  visit  to 
Europe,  this  unpretending  and  skillful  artist  has  com- 
muned with  the  old  masters,  to  good  effect.  Observe  that 
girl  with  the  parrot.  Every  detail  is  finished  with  a 
marvelous  exactitude.  It  is  perfectly  Titian-like  !  What 
clearly-defined  eyes,  and  yet  how  liquid  !  What  round, 
palpable  flesh  !  The  complacent  freshness  of  the  south 
broods  over  every  feature  and  glows  in  the  sunny  hair. 

There  is  great  individuality  in  Durand's  trees.  This 
is  a  very  desirable  characteristic  for  an  artist  who  deals 
with  American  scenery.  No  country  boasts  more  glo- 
rious sylvan  monarchs  ;  and  not  only  in  the  shape  and 


86 


ARTIST-LIFE. 


hue  of  the  foliage,  the  position  of  the  branches  and  the 
indentation  of  the  trunks,  do  they  offer  peculiar  features, 
but  each  genus  presents  novel  specimens  eminently 
worthy  of  accurate  portraiture.  Some  of  the  noblest 
elms  in  the  world  grace  the  villages  of  New  England. 
The  scarlet  color  of  the  maple  in  autumn  is  as  brilliant 
a  tint  as  the  vegetable  creation  anywhere  possesses. 
Here  majestic  willows  turn  their  silver  lining  upward  in 
the  swaying  breeze,  and  there  the  vivid  emerald  of  the 
eak  glistens  in  the  sun.  The  delicate  white  blossom  of 
the  locust  and  the  orange-berries  of  the  ash  float  on  a 
sea  of  verdure,  and  the  firs  on  the  mountain  side,  hold  the 
snows  in  their  evergreen  boughs.  A  rich  variety  of 
magnificent  forest  trees  have  survived  the  demolition  of 
the  wilderness,  and  their  felicitous  introduction  constitutes 
one  of  the  most  effective  points  in  American  landscape. 
One  of  Durand's  recent  pictures  is  admirable  in  this  re- 
gard. In  the  foreground  are  two  noble  trees,  a  beech 
and  a  linden — the  latter  with  a  fine  mossy  trunk,  and 
from  beneath  the  shade  of  these  woodland  patriarchs  the 
prospect  is  supposed  to  be  visible.  Down  a  dusty  path  a 
farmer  is  loitering  behind  his  flock  of  sheep.  A  river, 
calm  and  lucent,  slumbers  in  the  midst  of  the  scenery, 
and  beyond  are  groves,  meadows,  and  a  village ;  a 
mountain  range  forms  the  back-ground.  Such  is  the 
outline  of  the  landscape,  but  its  charm  consists  in  the  at- 
mosphere. The  artist  has  depicted  to  a  miracle  the 
brooding  haze  noticeable  in  our  climate  at  the  close  of  a 
sultry  day  during  a  drought.    There  are  some  verses  of 


D  IT  R  A  ND  . 


87 


Bryant's  which  convey  in  words  a  remarkably  just  im- 
pression of  the  scene  thus  depicted,  and  the  coincidence 
of  feeling  in  the  poet  and  painter  indicates  how  truly  na- 
tive is  the  composition  of  each. 

"  The  quiet  August  day  has  come, 
A  slumberous  silence  fills  the  sky, 
The  fields  are  still,  the  woods  are  dumb. 
In  glassy  sleep  the  waters  lie. 

And  mark  yon^soft  white  clouds  at  rest 

Above  our  vale,  a  moveless  throng ; 
The  cattle  on  the  mountain's  breast 

Enjoy  the  grateful  shadow  long. 

"  And  now  a  joy  too  deep  for  sound, 
A  peace  no  other  season  knows. 
Hushes  the  heavens  and  wraps  the  ground — 
The  blessing  of  supreme  repose. 

"  Rest  here,  beneath  the  unmoving  shade. 
And  on  the  silent  valleys  gaze. 
Winding  and  widening,  till  they  fade 
In  yon  soft  ring  of  summer  haze. 

"  The  village  trees  their  summits  rear 
Still  as  its  spire,  and  yonder  flock. 
At  rest  in  those  calm  fields,  appear 
As  chiseled  fi-om  the  lifeless  rock." 

The  details  of  the  two  pictures  differ  somewhat,  it  is 
true,  but  in  spirit  they  are  identical.  It  was  a  bright 
thought  of  the  Sketch  Club,  (a  small  private  society  in 
New- York,)  that  each  of  its  members  should  contribute 


88 


ARTIST-LIFE. 


an  illustration  to  Bryant's  poems.  We  hope  the  design 
may  yet  be  realized.  Few  American  poems,  for  in- 
stance, are  susceptible  of  finer  illustration  than  the 
"  Fountain."  In  the  hands  of  a  competent  artist  it  would 
form  a  most  graphic  emblem  of  our  civilization,  from  the 
primeval  wilderness  through  the  lives  of  savage,  hunter, 
and  settler,  to  the  thriving  homes  of  a  populous  and  ex- 
tensive city.  The  best  hints  towards  the  object  in  view 
were  those  suggested  by  the  faithful  pencil  of  Durand, 
whose  eye  for  quiet  scenery  is  correct  and  discerning. 
In  color,  too,  whatever  may  be  his  natural  perception, 
he  evidently  aims  at  harmony.  This,  to  a  discriminating 
observer,  is  no  small  praise.  Nature  so  blends  her  tints 
as  to  produce  a  genial  but  not  dazzling  impression,  which 
gratifies  without  disturbing  the  vision.  A  celebrated 
author,  speaking  of  moral  experiences,  has  observed  that 
"  the  unconscious  is  the  only  true."  An  analogous  fact 
pertains  to  the  natural  world,  where  every  variety  of 
hue  is  so  admirably  disposed  as  to  contribute  to  a 
general  and  pleasing  unity,  so  that  we  do  not  note  each 
in  our  sympathy  with  all.  Durand  has  not  ventured 
on  any  very  brilliant  experiments  in  color  *  his  tone  is 
subdued. 


W.  E.  WEST, 


When  Scott  was  asked  what  he  deemed  the  chief 
benefit  derived  from  his  literary  reputation,  he  replied — 
the  social  privileges  attending  it.  This  is  a  striking 
illustration  of  the  superior  interest  which  truly  gifted 
minds  attach. to  character  and  genius.  Nature  is  every 
where,  and  one  of  her  genuine  lovers  has  declared  that  a 
single  blade  of  grass  is  amply  suggestive ;  the  machinery 
of  life,  too,  varies  but  slightly,  and  the  goods  of  fortune 
have  but  a  limited  relation  to  enjoyment ;  but  the  lovely 
and  the  wise,  the  prominent  spirits  in  art  and  literature, 
in  science  and  adventure,  in  natural  endowment  and  gen- 
erous culture,  yield  gratification  at  once  to  our  highest 
curiosity  and  noblest  affections.  Those  who  are  con- 
scious, as  the  best  natures  ever  are,  of  attaining  satisfac- 
tion chiefly  through  their  sympathies,  may  congratulate 
themselves  if  their  profession,  talents,  or  fame,  if  any 
grace  of  manner  or  of  soul,  has  given  them  the  golden 
key  to  this  delightful  intercourse.  Such  is  one  of  the  in- 
cidental blessings  which  redeems  an  artist's  destiny,  and 
especially  that  of  a  successful  portrait  painter.  Reynolds 

5* 


90 


ARTIST- LI  FE. 


enjoyed  the  intimacy  of  the  choicest  spirits  of  his  day, 
and  Stuart's  anecdotes  are  traditional  on  this  side  of  the 
water.  The  relation  between  an  artist  and  his  sitter,  the 
motives  which  exist  in  each  for  a  pleasant  self-develop- 
ment, and  the  mere  opportunity  afforded  for  mutual  con- 
fidence, favor  open  and  intelligent  communion.  Few 
strangers  are  brought  together  under  circumstances  bet- 
ter adapted  for  the  display  of  character.  We  have 
known  the  deficiencies  of  an  indifferent  early  training 
quite  compensated  in  an  artist,  by  the  frequent  and  famil- 
iar contact  with  highly  cultivated  minds  induced  by  his 
vocation.  If  the  adventurous  enter  the  army  and  navy 
for  no  other  purpose  than  to  see  the  world,  an  ardent  hu- 
manitarian, with  any  chance  of  renown,  might  be  forgiv- 
en for  embracing  this  department  of  the  fine  arts  in  order 
to  reap  the  social  harvest  it  affords.  The  diary  of  a  fa- 
vorite portrait  painter,  written  in  the  right  vein,  would  be 
at  least  as  attractive  a  chronicle  of  his  times  as  that  of  an 
author  or  a  physician.  The  scenes  upon  which  our  eyes 
have  rested  with  admiration  may  fade  from  the  memory ; 
the  physical  sensations  that  have  thrilled  or  agonized  our 
frames  may  have  left  no  conscious  trace  ;  the  picture,  the 
book  or  the  song  that  enraptured  our  fancy  may  be  re- 
called with  but  vague  and  light  emotion — but  the  human 
being  crowned  by  genius,  loveliness,  or  moral  beauty, 
whom  we  have  once  known,  becomes  a  part  of  ourselves ; 
the  acquaintance  is  an  epoch  in  our  mental  history,  and 
the  reminiscence  ever  fresh  because  associated  with  what 
is  most  endearing  and  satisfactory. 


W.    E .    WE  ST. 


91 


Some  anecdotes  of  his  artist-life  that  we  gathered  in 
a  late  conversation  with  Mr.  West,  agreeably  revived 
these  ideas.    It  was  his  custom,  while  engaged  upon  the 
portrait  of  Lord  Byron,  to  leave  Leghorn  daily,  soon  after 
mid-day,  for  the  poet's  villa  at  Montenero,  and  apply  him- 
self to  the  picture  for  two  or  three  hours.    On  one  occa- 
sion while  thus  occupied,  the  servant  announced  Shelley, 
who  was  immediately  invited  to  enter.     At  that  time  he 
was  almost  unknown  to  fame,  and  the  painter  observed 
him  in  a  perfectly  unexaggerated  mood.    We  therefore 
listened  with  avidity  to  his  first  impressions.  The  day  was 
sultry,  and  Shelley  was  clad  in  a  loose  dress  of  gingham, 
very  simple  and  appropriate.    His  open  collar,  beardless 
face  and  long  hair,  as  well  as  his  thin  and  slight  figure, 
gave  him  the  appearance  of  a  stripling.     He  advanced 
gracefully,  raised  the  hand  of  Madame  Guiccioli,  after 
the  custom  of  the  country,  to  his  lips,  and  assuming  an 
easy  posture,  immediately  entered  into  a  lively  conversa- 
tion with  the  party.    "  Never,"  said  the  artist,  "  have  I 
seen  a  face  so  expressive  of  ineffable  goodness."  Its 
angelic  benignity  and  intelligence  were  only  shadowed 
by  a  certain  sadness,  as  of  one  upon  whom  life  pressed 
keenly,  at  touching  variance  with  the  youth  indicated  by 
his  contour  and  movements.    Enthusiasm,  however,  soon 
wonderfully  kindled  his  countenance  and  quickened  his 
speech,  as  he  described,  in  the  most  vivid  and  glowing 
terms,  a  cave  that  he  had  discovered  while  coasting  along 
the  Mediterranean  the  day  previous.    The  description 
was  so  eloquent  that  his  auditors  could  not  but  share  the 


92 


ARTIST-LIFE. 


delight  of  Shelley,  as  he  dwelt  upon  the  azure  light,  the 
mysterious  entrance,  the  stalactites  and  transparent  water, 
amid  which  his  boat  had  suddenly  glided  as  if  by  magic. 
Those  acquainted  with  his  poetry  will  recognize  a  favor- 
ite subject  in  this  cavern-talk.  What  struck  Mr.  West 
most  forcibly  in  Shelley's  conversation,  was  its  complete 
self-forgetfulness.  His  consciousness  was  lost  in  his 
theme.  In  this  respect  he  presented  an  entire  contrast 
to  Byron.  They  were  suddenly  interrupted  by  a  wild 
cry  from  the  adjoining  hall.  The  illustrious  sitter  has- 
tened towards  the  door  at  the  same  moment  with  Shelley, 
the  countess,  pale  and  terrified,  vainly  entreating  and 
holding  him  back.  It  will  be  remembered  that  Byron 
was  at  this  period  regarded  with  suspicion  by  the  Tuscan 
government,  and  his  residence  had  been  threatened  with 
violence  by  some  of  the  local  authorities  to  whom  he  had 
given  offence.  Under  an  idea  that  the  disturbance  grew 
out  of  these  circumstances,  the  whole  party  entered  the 
saloon.  The  instant  they  appeared,  a  man  rushed  past, 
followed  by  another  with  an  uplifted  dagger  ;  the  weapon 
grazed  Byron's  cheek,  and  at  the  sight  of  blood,  his  com- 
panion, still  more  alarmed,  strove  to  drag  him  toward  the 
great  staircase.  Before  reaching  it,  Count  Gamba,  who 
had  heard  the  tumult  in  his  chamber,  was  seen  running 
down  with  half  a  score  of  pistols,  which  he  distributed 
among  the  party.  They  all  ascended  and  locked  them- 
selves in  a  room  over  the  front  entrance  of  the  villa, 
where  a  council  of  war  was  held.  Meantime  the  house 
had  resumed  its  wonted  stillness,  and  Byron  expressed 


W  .     E.  WEST. 


93 


his  determination  to  explore  the  premises.  The  countess 
protested  with  tears  against  the  design,  and  Mr.  West — 
who  as  an  American  had  nothing  to  fear  from  the  police, 
and  had  lived  too  secluded  to  be  an  object  of  animosity ^ — 
in  order  to  calm  the  lady's  fears  and  enable  his  friends  to 
solve  the  mystery,  volunteered  to  reconnoiter.  Accord- 
ingly, he  left  the  excited  group  and  descended  to  the 
primo  piano.  It  appeared  entirely  deserted.  He  looked 
into  various  rooms  and  threaded  several  corridors,  but  the 
echoes  of  a  closing  door  or  his  own  footsteps  alone  gave 
sign  of  life.  At  length  he  ventured  to  remove  the  fasten- 
ings of  the  ponderous  door,  which  at  the  first  alarm  had 
been  carefully  barricaded.  In  the  midst  of  the  weed- 
grown  area  was  kneeling  a  villainous-looking  but  evident- 
ly frightened  Italian,  with  the  moustaches  and  eye  of  a 
brigand,  but  the  air  of  a  penitent,  vociferating,  gesticulat- 
ing, tearing  his  hair,  shedding  torrents  of  tears,  and  in- 
voking either  Heaven  or  some  intermediate  saint.  Our 
painter  stepped  forth  upon  the  gravel-walk  and  looked  up 
to  the  window.  At  a  more  tranquil  moment  it  would 
have  charmed  his  artistic  perception.  Byron's  pale  brow, 
Count  Gamba's  ardent  gaze,  his  sister's  golden  locks,  and 
Shelley's  spiritual  form,  were  there  all  clustered  together, 
and  each  looked  and  listened  with  bewildered  attention  to 
the  suppliant  wretch  below,  whom  Mr.  West  now  ap- 
proached in  the  hope  of  obtaining  some  key  to  the  enig- 
matical scene.  It  was  long,  however,  before  his  impas- 
sioned volubility  could  be  soothed,  or  his  mortal  terror 
quieted.    It  then  appeared  that  he  was  a  servant — the 


94 


ARTIST-LIFE. 


man  who  had  rushed  by  them  with  a  dagger — and  he 
vowed  never  to  rise  from  his  knees  until  his  declaration 
was  believed  that  he  was  in  pursuit  of  one  of  his  fellows 
who  had  grossly  injured  him,  and  that  he  had  wounded 
his  master  quite  accidentally,  to  whom  he  swore  eternal 
loyalty  and  devoted  attachment.  When  Mr.  West  made 
all  this  plain  to  the  group  at  the  window,  the  tragedy  im- 
mediately became  the  richest  of  comic  adventures  over 
which  to  laugh  at  dinner.  But  it  was  not  destined  to  end 
without  the  entrance  of  another  famous  personage  on  the 
stage.  The  noise  of  a  horse's  tread  near  by,  caused  the 
artist  to  turn  his  eyes  down  the  avenue,  where  he  saw  a 
gentleman  with  an  olive  complexion  and  dark,  lustrous 
eye,  seated  in  a  carriage,  and  glancing  from  the  window 
to  the  still  gesticulating  servant,  and  then  to  himself,  with 
an  expression  of  amusing  wonderment.  It  was  Leigh 
Hunt,  who  had  just  arrived  from  England,  thinking  at  the 
moment  that  he  had  only  come  to  find  his  long  expectant 
poet  friends  in  a  lunatic  asylum.  We  may  imagine,  with 
such  a  reunion  and  after  such  a  series  of  dramatic  inci- 
dents, how  the  breezy  evening  of  that  summer  day  was 
spent  at  the  Villa  Dupoy. 

At  the  period  when  West  painted  Byron  and  the 
Countess  Guiccioli,  (the  engraved  copies  of  which  pic- 
tures in  this  country  are  positive  libels  upon  the  origin- 
als,) the  poet's  thoughts  were  directed  towards  America. 
He  had  not  then  resolved  upon  his  Grecian  expedition, 
his  sojourn  in  Italy  had  become  annoying  from  various 
causes,  and  he  was  more  than  ever  disaffected  towards 


W.     E.     WEST.  95 

his  native  land.  One  of  our  vessels  of  war  was  lying  in 
the  harbor  of  Leghorn,  and  among  her  gallant  officers 
were  some  warm  admirers  of  Childe  Harold.  They 
sought  his  acquaintance  and  invited  him  to  visit  the 
frigate.  When  he  went  on  board  he  received  a  salute, 
and  few  compliments  ever  gratified  him  so  much.  He 
had  read  in  some  periodical  a  review  of  Wirt's  "  Life  of 
Patrick  Henry,"  and  begged  Mr.  West  to  procure  a  copy 
of  the  book,  which  he  declared  one  of  the  most  interest- 
ing biographies  he  ever  read.  One  trait  of  his  inter- 
course with  the  artist  is  so  thoroughly  characteristic  that 
it  deserves  mention.  As  usual,  he  was  very  curious  to 
know  what  the  painter  thought  of  him,  and  finally  in- 
duced the  latter  to  confess  that  he  did  not  think  him  a 
happy  man.  Byron  was  eager  to  ascertain  wherein  the 
contrary  was  evident.  "  I  asked  him,"  said  West,  "  if 
he  had  never  observed  in  little  children,  after  a  paroxysm 
of  grief,  that  they  had  at  intervals  a  convulsive  or  tremu- 
lous manner  of  drawing  in  a  long  breath.  Whenever  I 
had  observed  this,  in  persons  of  whatever  age,  I  had 
always  found  that  it  came  from  sorrow.  He  said  the 
thought  was  new  to  him  and  that  he  would  make  use  of  it." 

Another  interesting  association  of  Mr.  West's  foreign 
residence,  is  his  visit  to  Rhyllon,  where  he  had  been  in- 
vited to  paint  Mrs.  Hemans.  "  There  never  was  a  coun- 
tenance," says  her  sister,  "  more  difficult  to  transfer  to 
canvas,  so  varying  were  its  expressions,  and  so  impossi- 
ble is  it  to  be  satisfied  with  the  one  which  can  alone  be 
perpetuated  by  the  artist.    The  great  charm  of  Mr. 


96 


ARTIST-LIFE. 


West's  picture  is  its  perfect  freedom  from  any  thing  set 
or  constrained  in  the  air,  and  the  sweet,  serious  expres- 
sion so  accordant  with  her  maternal  character.  In  her 
own  lines  to  this  portrait,  the  poetess  exclaims — 

"  Such  power  is  thine  ! — they  come,  the  dead. 

From  the  grave's  bondage  free, 
And  smiling  back,  the  changed  are  led 
To  look  in  love  on  thee." 

An  unfortunate  speculation  with  one  of  his  inventive 
countrymen,  whose  mechanical  genius  had  brought  him 
to  London,  induced  Mr.  West,  several  years  since,  to 
return  to  this  country.  Some  of  his  more  recent  works 
are  admirable  in  their  way.  He  excels  in  cabinet  fancy 
portraits,  and  not  a  few  of  his  efforts  of  this  kind  are 
quite  unsurpassed,  at  least  among  us.  His  ability  in 
portrait  on  a  broader  scale  is  evidenced  by  that  of  Mr. 
Calvert.  The  light  and  shade  are  managed  with  a  Rem- 
brandt effect,  and  the  expression  and  air  remind  us  of 
Vandyke. 

The  analogies  between  literature  and  art  are  more 
numerous  and  delicate  than  we  are  apt  to  imagine.  The 
former  is  ever  yielding  themes  to  the  latter,  while  the  es- 
sential charm  of  many  popular  writers  is  purely  artistic. 
This  is  the  case  to  a  remarkable  degree  with  Irving,  and 
the  principal  reason  of  the  enthusiasm  his  early  writings 
excited  among  his  countrymen,  was  that  they  were  the 
first  which  possessed  any  native  grace  and  finish  of 
style.    The  thoughts  and  sentiments  of  Geoffrey  Crayon 


W.    E  .  WEST. 


97 


are  not  original  or  profound,  though  sweet  and  natural, 
but  they  are  uttered  in  chaste  and  refined  language — in 
sentences  that  win  the  ear,  in  words  chosen  with  a  tact 
and  taste  derived  from  innate  perception  and  a  genuine 
sense  of  beauty.  It  is  said  that  Irving  in  his  youth  con- 
templated the  profession  of  an  artist ;  his  writings  are  the 
best  proof  of  his  adaptation  to  such  a  life.  His  pictures 
are  not  sublime,  dramatic,  or  vivid,  but  they  are  dreamy, 
graceful,  and  quiet — exactly  such  as  would  afford  a  painter 
like  Mr.  West  genial  subjects  for  his  pencil ;  for  his 
taste  is  also  fastidious ;  he  delights  in  exquisite  details, 
and  it  is  a  labor  of  love  to  him  to  work  over  some  pleas- 
ing design,  and  bring  it  to  perfection.  He  is  a  loyal  dis- 
ciple of  the  English  school,  somewhat  of  a  conservative 
and  partizan  in  art,  and  one  of  those  students  of  painting 
that  never  travel  without  a  copy  of  Sir  Joshua's  dis- 
courses. Hence  he  has  little  sympathy  with  his  Ame- 
rican cotemporaries,  and  lives  chiefly  in  himself  and  the 
past.  We  find  no  difficulty,  on  the  catholic  principle  in 
which  Allston  delighted,  that  of  being  a  "  wide  liker,"  in 
fully  recognizing  the  claims  of  this  class  of  artists, 
of  which  we  believe  Mr.  West  is  the  best  represen- 
tative in  this  country.  They  are  of  the  same  fraternity 
in  painting  as  was  Gray  in  poetry,  aiming  chiefly  at 
high  finish  and  minute  effect,  exact,  dainty,  and  fanciful. 
Among  the  first  successful  pieces  of  this  artist  were 
illustrations  of  Irving's  "  Pride  of  the  Village,"  and  "  An- 
nette de  PArbre."  The  latter,  when  exhibited  at  the 
Royal  Academy,  drew  the  attention  of  the  poet  Rogers. 


98 


ARTIST-LIFE  . 


It  represented  the  deranged  girl  at  her  lonely  vigil  on  the 
beach,  watching  in  vain  for  her  lover's  return.  The  ap- 
preciation of  the  bard  of  memory  drew  general  attention 
to  the  picture  ;  his  ever-ready  sympathy  with  talent  se- 
cured the  artist  his  friendship,  and  this  was  the  auspicious 
commencement  of  a  long  and  prosperous  residence  in 
London,  cheered  by  the  richest  companionship.  It  is  not 
surprising  that,  after  an  arduous  career  as  a  portrait 
painter  in  the  West  and  South  at  home,  and  several  years 
of  study  in  Italy,  the  social  advantages  and  professional 
success  he  enjoyed  in  England,  should  have  rendered 
Mr.  West  very  partial  to  her  school,  and  that  Wilkie 
and  Leslie  should  be  among  the  names  he  most  fondly 
cherishes. 


SULLY. 


There  is  a  species  of  female  beauty  almost  peculiar 
to  this  country.  Perhaps  it  is  best  described  as  the  very 
opposite  of  robust.  Indeed,  it  is  winsome  partly  from 
the  sense  of  fragility  it  conveys.  Lightness  of  figure, 
delicacy  of  feature,  and  a  transparent  complexion  are  its 
essentials.  It  is  suggestive  at  once  of  that  quality  which 
the  French  call  spirituelle  ;  and  we  can  readily  account 
for  the  partiality  it  excites  in  foreigners,  from  their  having 
been  accustomed  to  the  hearty  attractions  of  the  Anglo- 
Saxons,  or  the  noble  outline  and  impassioned  expression 
of  the  southern  Europeans.  It  is  an  acknowledged  fact, 
that  the  physical  development  of  American  women  is 
precocious,  and  the  decay  of  their  charms  premature. 
The  variability  of  our  climate,  the  want  of  regular  exer- 
cise in  the  open  air,  and  the  harassing  responsibilities 
they  so  early  assume,  too  often  unrelieved  by  wholesome 
pastime,  are  some  of  the  reasons  assigned  for  this  state  of 
things ;  explained  as  it  may  be,  however,  these  charac- 
teristics of  American  beauty  are  visible  all  around  us ; 
and  to  arrest  graces  so  ethereal,  and  truly  embody  them, 


100 


ARTIST-LIFE. 


requires  somewhat  of  poetry  as  well  as  skill  in  an  artist. 
If  ever  there  was  a  man  specially  endowed  to  delineate 
our  countrywomen,  particularly  those  of  the  northern 
and  middle  States — where  the  peculiarities  we  have  no- 
ticed are  chiefly  observable,  it  is  Thomas  Sully.  His 
organization  fits  him  to  sympathize  with  the  fair  and  love- 
ly, rather  than  the  grand  and  comic.  He  is  keenly  alive 
to  the  more  refined  phases  of  life  and  nature.  His  pen- 
cil follows  with  instinctive  truth,  the  principles  of  genuine 
taste.  He  always  seizes  upon  the  redeeming  element, 
and  avails  himself  of  the  most  felicitous  combinations. 
Sully's  forte  is  the  graceful.  Whatever  faults  the  critics 
may  detect  in  his  works,  they  are  never  those  of  awk- 
wardness or  constraint.  He  exhibits  the  freedom  of  touch 
and  the  airiness  of  outline  which  belong  to  spontaneous 
emanations.  Indeed,  his  defect,  comparatively  speaking, 
lies  in  this  fairy-like,  unsubstantial  manner.  Many  of 
his  female  portraits  strike  us  as  "  too  wise  and  good,"  too 
like  creatures  of  the  element,"  to  be  loved  or  blamed. 
Some  of  them  float  before  the  gaze  like  spirits  of  the  air, 
or  peer  from  a  shadowy  canvas  like  enchanted  ladies. 
They  are  half-celestial,  and  we  tremble,  lest  they  should 
disappear  as  we  gaze.  As  a  universal  principle,  we  are 
far  from  advocating  this  style,  but  are  there  not  subjects 
to  which  it  is  exclusively  adapted  ?  Do  we  not  meet  hu- 
man beings  who  make  a  similar  impression  on  the  mind  ? 
Lucy  Ashton  is  a  representative  of  the  species.  Let  us 
advert  to  Scott's  description  : — "  Her  exquisitely  beauti- 
ful, but  somewhat  girlish  features,  were  formed  to  express 


SULLY. 


101 


peace  of  mind,  serenity,  and  indifference  to  the  tinsel  of 
worldly  pleasure.  The  expression  of  the  countenance 
was  in  the  last  degree  gentle,  soft  timid,  and  feminine, 
and  seemed  rather  to  shrink  from  the  most  casual  look  of 
a  stranger  than  to  court  admiration.  Something  there 
was  of  a  Madonna  cast,  perhaps  the  result  of  delicate 
health,  and  of  residence  in  a  family,  where  the  disposi- 
tions of  the  inmates  were  fiercer,  more  active  and  ener- 
getic than  her  own."  We  cannot  better  designate  Sully's 
particular  aptitude  than  by  saying  that  he  could  realize 
upon  canvas  the  mental  as  well  as  bodily  portrait  of  such 
a  heroine.  One  consequence  of  the  fastidious  taste  and 
graceful  perception  of  this  artist,  is  that  where  the  sub- 
ject is  unpromising,  he  is  sure  to  catch  the  most  desirable 
expression.  We  often  see  coarsely  moulded  faces  ap- 
parently destitute  of  all  charms — faces  that  inspire  respect 
by  the  character  they  display,  but  offend  ideality,  and 
leave  the  affections  untouched.  Intimate  acquaintance, 
however,  reveals  a  certain  mood  wherein  a  softness 
gleams  in  the  eyes,  or  a  smile  flashes  like  some  benign 
inspiration,  throwing  over  every  feature  an  interest  and 
grace  undreamed  of  before.  To  this  casual  expression 
Sully  will  apply  himself.  It  seems  a  rule  and  habit  with 
him  never  to  send  a  disagreeable  portrait  from  his  easel. 
He  has  an  extremely  dexterous  way  of  flattering  without 
seeming  to  do  so,  of  crystalizing  better  moments  and  fix- 
ing happy  attitudes.  All  his  men,  and  especially  his 
women,  have  an  air  of  breeding,  a  high  tone,  and  a  gen 
teel  carriage.    His  taste  in  costume  is  excellent.  One 


102 


ARTIST-LIFE 


always  feels  at  least  in  good  society  among  his  portraits. 
He  seems  to  paint  only  ladies  and  gentlemen.  However 
his  actual  power  may  be  estimated,  there  is  about  his 
works  the  absolute  tokens  of  an  artist's  spirit.  There  is 
sensibility  in  his  delineations ;  they  are  invariably  modest, 
refined,  and  graceful.  He  never  offends  our  sense  of  the 
appropriate,  or  trenches  on  the  self-respect  of  those  he 
portrays  by  the  least  approach  to  exaggeration.  The 
series  of  illustrations  of  Shakspeare  he  commenced,  are 
happily,  but  not  forcibly  conceived.  Portia  is  fair  and 
dignified,  but  not  sufiiciently  vigorous;  Isabella  is  as 
chaste  and  nunlike  as  Shakspeare  has  made  her,  but  her 
dormant  and  high  enthusiasm  does  not  enough  appear  ; 
Miranda,  a  character  better  adapted  than  either  to  Sully's 
pencil,  has  an  arch  simplicity  caught  from  nature  herself. 

Sully  is  identified  to  an  unusual  extent  with  the  orna- 
ments of  the  stage.  He  is  a  discriminating  lover  of  acting 
and  music.  His  portraits  of  Cooke,  Fanny  Kemble,  and 
Mrs.  Wood,  are  among  his  most  genial  and  successful 
efforts.  The  St.  George's  Society  of  his  adopted  city,  com- 
missioned him  to  paint  the  Queen,  upon  her  accession  to 
the  throne.  Within  a  few  years  he  has  executed  a  very 
spirited  portrait  of  Washington,  in  the  act  of  reviewing 
the  troops,  at  the  time  of  the  whisky  riots.  There  is  a 
chivalrous  dignity  in  the  expression  and  gesture,  rarely  so 
effectively  embodied.  The  present  war  with  Mexico 
broke  off"  a  negotiation  whereby  this  picture  would  have 
been  purchased  by  the  government  as  a  donation  to  a 
foreign  potentate.    Talent  for  the  arts  is  natural  to  Sully's 


SULLY. 


103 


family.  His  English  parents  were  gifted  in  dramatic 
ability ;  his  brother,  whom  he  soon  out-rivalled,  initiated 
him  into  practice,  and  his  children  excel  in  tasteful  ac- 
complishments. His  mind  is  by  no  means  exclusive  in  its 
appreciation,  but  readily  perceives  whatever  of  grace  is 
discernible  in  the  whole  r^nge  of  literature  and  art. 
His  associations  have  favored  this  native  insight,  and  a 
remarkably  liberal  and  amiable  disposition  makes  him 
cognizant  of  the  least  symptom  of  merit.  His  kindness 
to  young  artists  is  proverbial,  and  it  is  very  difficult  to 
induce  him  to  play  the  critic,  so  prone  is  he  to  seize  upon 
the  hopeful  aspect — not  only  of  the  face  he  is  depicting, 
but  of  the  character  or  production  submitted  to  his  judg- 
ment. Sully  was  very  early  thrown  upon  his  own  re- 
sources, and  his  connections  were  dependent  upon  him  at 
an  age  when  other  artists  are  usually  free  of  all  respon- 
sibility, but  such  as  their  vocation  imposes.  The  manly 
and  cheerful  spirit  in  which  he  met  the  exigencies  of  his 
youth,  is  worthy  of  his  generous  heart.  His  voluntary 
sacrifices  at  this  period,  equal  those  of  any  of  his  noble 
compeers.  Many  anecdotes  are  related,  all  significant  of 
that  elasticity  which  seems  to  belong  to  the  artistic  organi- 
zation. Goldoni  compares  despondency  to  a  fencer,  and 
says,  as  long  as  one  stands  upon  his  guard,  and  parries  the 
enemy's  attack,  there  is  no  danger ;  but  the  moment  a 
defensive  attitude  is  resigned,  the  thrusts  prove  fatal. 
Upon  this  principle.  Sully  acted  at  the  discouraging  open- 
ing of  his  career.  At  the  South,  where  his  labours  as 
an  artist  commenced,  for  a  long  time  they  gained  him  a 


104 


ARTIST-LIFE. 


very  precarious  subsistence.  His  zeal  fcr  improvement 
led  him  to  visit  Europe  with  insufficient  means,  and  the 
economy  he  practiced  for  many  months  in  London,  would 
form  a  striking  chapter  in  the  annals  of  self-denial. 
Hare  Powell,  of  Philadelphia,  was  an  efficient  friend  at 
this  crisis,  and  through  his  aid,  several  private  galleries 
were  opened  to  the  young  artist,  and  he  was  enabled  to 
study  the  English  school  of  portraiture  under  signal  ad- 
vantages. He  has  experienced  to  a  remarkable  degree 
the  caprices  of  fortune.  Taste  has  undergone  a  variety 
of  fluctuations  since  he  became  known  to  fame.  The 
branch  of  art  he  espoused,  and  even  the  peculiar  excel- 
lences for  which  he  has  been  distinguished,  exposed  him 
to  a  more  than  ordinary  reliance  on  the  fashion  of  the 
day.  Sometimes  he  has  been  overwhelmed  with  orders, 
and  at  others,  obliged  to  change  his  residence  for  the  sake 
of  employment.  For  many  years,  however,  he  has  prose- 
cuted his  art  in  Philadelphia,  where  few  men  are  so  de- 
servedly respected  and  beloved. 


I  NM  AN  . 


Since  the  exhibition  of  Allston's  paintings,  several 
years  since,  we  have  had  no  feast  of  art  comparable  with 
that  of  this  artist's  works.  As  we  surveyed  the  various 
evidences  of  taste  and  genius  which  adorned  the  walls, 
associated  as  they  were  with  one  of  the  most  genial  and 
kindly  characters  it  has  been  our  lot  to  know,  a  thousand 
pleasant  memories  and  grateful  thoughts  sprang  up  "  as 
at  the  touch  of  an  enchanter's  wand."  At  a  meeting  of 
the  committee  to  whose  exertions  the  public  were  indebt- 
ed for  this  exhibition,  one  of  Inman's  sanguine  friends 
urged  with  no  little  eloquence,  the  propriety  of  inviting 
our  citizens  to  hear  an  oration  in  honor  of  his  life  and 
labors.  The  proposition  was  deemed  inexpedient  by  the 
majority  present.  It  was  felt  that  the  works  of  an  artis 
speak  more  justly  his  praise  ;  and  we  think  no  discern- 
ing visiter  failed  to  realize  this  in  regard  to  Inman. 

There  are  few  more  interesting  processes  than  to 
trace  the  development  of  a  nobly-endowed  man,  as  we 
often  can  in  written  productions,  but  seldom,  as  in  the 

6 


106 


ARTIST- LIFE. 


present  instance,  through  the  offspring  of  the  pencil. 
Let  any  one  turn  from  the  crude  execution  of  his  paint- 
ings, at  the  age  of  eighteen,  to  the  exquisite  finish  and 
delicate  tints  of  Rydal  Water" — which  seems  to 
deepen  in  crystal  tranquillity  as  you  gaze,  until  the 
very  spirit  of  the  delicious  landscape  passes  into  your 
mind  as  it  often  has  into  that  of  Wordsworth,  who  him- 
self conducted  Inman  to  the  very  point  of  view  whence 
the  picture  was  taken.  In  portraiture,  too,  compare  the 
artist's  brother — his  first  likeness  in  oils — so  compara- 
tively without  vigor,  to  the  strong,  massive  head  of  Lord 
Chancellor  Cottenham. 

The  collection  of  his  works  was,  of  course,  limited 
to  the  few  which  could  be  readily  obtained  ;  the  object 
of  the  exhibition  having  been  to  provide  something  for 
his  family,  rather  than  completely  to  illustrate  the  ability 
of  the  painter.  The  works  thus  brought  together — all 
the  products  of  the  same  mind — were  more  valuable  and 
attractive  than  many  exhibitions  we  have  seen  comprising 
twenty  times  as  many  pictures  by  fifty  different  hands. 
It  would  have  been  quite  easy  to  have  gathered  many 
more  pictures  by  the  same  pencil,  but  it  was  deemed 
advisable  to  improve  the  occasion  without  delay,  and 
avoid  the  risk  and  expense  consequent  upon  the  trans- 
portation of  works  from  a  great  distance.  Accordingly, 
the  Art-Union  room  having  been  gratuitously  offered  for 
the  purpose,  one  hundred  and  twenty-six  of  Inman's  pic- 
tures were  arranged  upon  its  walls.  As  a  matter  of 
course  the  greater  number  were  portraits — but  such 


I  N  M  A  N  . 


107 


portraits,  for  the  most  part,  as  have  an  artistic  interest 
which  renders  them  attractive  independent  of  all  personal 
associations.  Indeed  we  venture  to  claim  for  Inman,  in 
this  department,  the  highest  rank.  He  was  unequal,  it 
is  true  ;  but  where  the  subject  was  propitious  and  the 
artist  himself,  that  is,  in  health  and  the  right  mood  for  his 
task,  the  result  may  challenge  admiration  from  the  lovers 
of  Vandyke  and  Lawrence.  If  this  praise  should  be 
deemed  extravagant,  we  point  with  confidence  to  the 
heads  of  Dr.  Chalmers,  Lord  Chancellor  Cottenham, 
Wordsworth,  and  Macaulay,  as  examples  of  vigorous, 
characteristic,  and  masterly  portraiture  ;  to  the  "  Artist's 
Daughter "  as  an  instance  of  the  perfectly  successful 
transfer  of  expression  to  the  canvas  without  adventitious 
finish ;  and  to  the  pen  and  crayon  sketches  of  Porter  and 
Hoffman,  and  the  painting  of  Jacob  Barker,  as  proofs  of 
facility  of  execution.  The  portrait  of  an  infant  was  one 
of  the  most  remarkable  things  in  the  exhibition.  We 
are  informed  that  it  was  painted  after  the  child's  death, 
entirely  from  the  father's  description  of  its  lineaments ; 
and  is  a  satisfactory  likeness.  A  painter's  life  abounds 
in  significant  passages,  and  one  of  the  most  touching  we 
ever  heard,  is  that  of  a  parent  sitting  for  hours  beside  an 
artist  engaged  in  transferring  the  beloved  features  from 
his  memory.  The  quotation  from  Moore's  "Lake  of  the 
Dismal  Swamp,"  appended  in  the  catalogue  to  a  view  of 
the  scene,  reminds  us  of  the  dramatic  effect  with  which 
the  departed  was  wont  to  recite  that  poem,  after  the  man- 
ner of  a  well  known  elocutionist,  for  the  amusement  of 


108 


A  R  T  I  S  T  -  L  I  F  E  . 


his  friends.  How  benign  an  air  broods  over  the  mas- 
sive forehead  of  Chalmers !  We  see  in  his  face  the 
power  of  thought,  and  the  heat  of  enthusiasm  tempered 
by  age.  It  has  been  well  said  that  Wordsworth's  brow, 
eye,  and  mouth,  perfectly  accord  with  the  tranquillity 
and  diffuseness  of  his  muse ;  there  is  a  passionless  con- 
templation about  the  picture,  so  true  to  the  poet's  nature 
as  exhibited  in  his  writings  that,  without  having  seen 
the  original,  we  feel  assured  his  portrait  is  authentic. 
Macaulay  is  not  a  promising  subject.  His  temperament 
and  tone  of  complexion  would  prove  very  ineffective  in 
the  hands  of  an  inferior  painter.  Inman  has  given  so 
well  the  noble  outline  of  the  head — the  swelling  curve 
where  phrenologists  locate  the  perceptive  organs — and 
chosen  the  position  so  admirably,  the  eye  slightly  lifted, 
that  the  heavy  features  have  a  quiet  eloquence  which 
grows  upon  the  spectator.  Their  rugged,  honest  strength 
would,  however,  leave  us  without  any  outward  sign  of 
the  great  reviewer's  mental  refinement,  were  it  not  for 
the  hand,  the  beautiful  moulding  of  which  completes  the 
insignia  with  which  nature  has  stamped  the  casket  whose 
gems  have  so  often  scintillated  from  the  pages  of  the 
"  Edinburgh."  The  unfinished  portraits  attracted  much 
attention  from  every  painter  who  visited  the  exhibition,  for 
the  reason  that  they  gave  no  inadequate  notion  of  the  pro- 
cess which  the  limner  followed.  It  was  observed  that  the 
peculiar  and  characteristic  expression  of  the  face — that 
quality,  indeed,  which  alone  gives  individuality  to  the  fea- 
tures, was  already  caught  and  embodied.    This  method  is 


I  N  M  A  N  . 


109 


precisely  what  distinguishes  genius  from  mechanical  dex- 
terity. Any  one  with  a  command  of  language  can  versify, 
and  a  little  practice  will  enable  the  clumsiest  hand  to  com- 
bine color  and  trace  forms,  but  to  vivify  language  with 
genuine  emotion,  so  that  it  adequately  represents  a  state  of 
the  soul,  and  to  make  outlines  and  tints  convey  the  very 
personality  of  a  countenance,  are  achievements  requiring 
a  special  endowment,  and  not  attainable  through  mere 
skill  or  industry. 

The  following  is  a  sketch  of  a  visit  to  his  studio  three 
years  before  his  death  : 

Now  let  us  go  to  Henry  Inman's.  Would  you  not 
know  him  for  a  man  of  genius  at  a  glance  ?  His  air  and 
smile,  the  lines  of  mental  activity  in  his  face,  the  very 
fall  of  his  long  hair  would  stamp  him  in  a  crowd  as  a 
weaver  of  "such  stuff  as  dreams  are  made  of."  His  coun- 
tenance has  that  interest  which  lies  in  expression,  an  in- 
terest far  transcending  mere  regularity  of  outline  or  beau- 
ty of  individual  feature,  because  we  always  associate  it 
with  character.  It  seems  less  the  offspring  of  accident, 
has  a  more  intimate  relation  with  the  soul,  and  is  a  cha- 
racteristic over  which  time  has  no  power.  An  artist  of 
some  sort  we  could  safely  aver  him  to  he  ;  whether  in 
the  sphere  of  language,  sound,  colors,  or  marble,  would 
be  a  subsequent  question.  His,  however,  is  no  confined 
ability,  but  rather  the  liberal  scope  of  an  intellectual  man. 
He  converses  delightfully,  recites  with  peculiar  effect, 
has  a  discriminating  sympathy  for  literature,  the  drama, 
and  "  the  comedy  of  life,"  with  genial  social  instincts  and  a 


110 


ARTIST-LIFE. 


warm  appreciation  of  whatever  appeals  to  the  imagination, 
or  involves  any  principle  or  taste.  In  his  own  particular 
art,  Inman  is  one  of  the  most  versatile  of  American  lim- 
ners. We  remember  an  anecdote  of  some  lover  of  Art, 
who  visited  a  public  gallery,  and  after  surveying  numer- 
ous pictures,  selected  a  landscape  as  especially  worthy  of 
his  future  attention ;  he  next  was  attracted  by  an  Indian 
group,  then  by  some  historical  figures,  and  at  last  by  a  por- 
trait. Upon  referring  to  the  catalogue  to  identify  the  paint- 
ers of  his  favorites,  what  was  his  surprise  to  find  all  four  to 
be  the  work  of  Inman  !  The  German  school  greatly  in- 
terests this  accomplished  artist.  He  possesses  a  superb 
Danae  by  a  modern  painter  of  that  nation — the  most  ad- 
mirable thing  of  its  kind  in  the  country.  There  was  a 
charming  example  of  his  pleasant  invention,  at  the  last 
Academy  Exhibition.  It  represented  two  boys  playing 
mumble-peg  or  stick-knife,  on  a  green  bank  in  summer. 
Such  exuberant  juvenility  as  their  faces  and  attitude  dis- 
played !  It  was  a  most  happy  touch  of  nature,  the  work  of 
three  afternoons,  such  an  one  as  stirs  a  pulse  in  every 
heart.  It  brings  back  the  days  of  boyhood,  like  magic — 
the  '  unchartered  freedom '  of  that  bright  age,  and  its 
buoyant  air  of  careless  enjoyment.  The  freshness  of  their 
looks,  like  the  verdure  on  which  they  are  stretched,  is  as 
the  smile  of  the  blest  spring  that  preceded  the  manhood 
of  our  discontent," — gleaming  through  the  long  vista  of 
years.  Benign  old  gentlemen  used  to  stop  before  the 
little  gem,  and  smile,  and  then  grow  thoughtful  at 

"  Finding  objects  that  still  remain. 
While  those  days  come  not  again." 


I  N  M  A  N  . 


Ill 


We  are  fortunate  in  our  visit.  There  is  one  of  the 
first  trophies  of  Inman's  genius — a  youthful  production, 
but  most  felicitous  and  promising.  Even  now  he  may 
contemplate  it  with  satisfaction.  It  illustrates  Irving's 
delightful  story.  Look  at  those  still,  tall  trees,  the  sun- 
rise glimmering  through  that  opening  which  reveals  a 
sweet  glimpse  of  the  Hudson,  with  a  sail  gliding  by.  See 
yon  eagle  sailing  through  the  air.  Comes  there  not  the 
almost  oppressive  tranquillity  of  a  summer  morning  over 
your  senses  ?  Do  you  not  long  to  fling  yourself  upon  the 
turf,  and  repose  amid  the  balmy  woodland  silence,  broken 
only  by  the  song  of  birds  ?  Do  you  not  recognize  a  knoll 
of  the  Catskill  ?  And  there,  just  raising  himself,  with  a 
bewildered  stare  and  a  constrained  elongation  of  his  stiff 
limbs,  is  Rip  Van  Winkle  himself !  There  are  his  old- 
fashioned  breeches,  his  long  beard  and  hair,  his  rubicund 
and  wife-subdued  countenance.  Beside  him  is  the  an- 
tique gun,  with  rank  grass  waving  over  it.  The  lock  is 
green  and  mouldy,  and  the  poor  fellow's  hat  actually  has 
assumed  a  half- vegetable  aspect.  Capital, — is  it  not  ? 
And  what  think  you  of  this  picture — those  two  boys 
gazing  at  each  other  with  angry,  bullying  faces,  (a  patri- 
cian and  a  rustic,)  erect,  full  of  pluck  and  combativeness, 
yet  awed  into  a  kind  of  dogged  reconciliation  by  the 
third  youth  who  has  stepped  between  them  ?  There  is 
something  familiar  in  the  latter's  countenance.  Dig- 
nity blends  even  with  its  childlike  expression.  The  su- 
premacy of  character  already  exerts  itself  not  only  in  act 
but  look.    You  feel  that  he  is  born  to  command.  The 


112 


ARTIST-LIFE, 


serenity  of  conscious  rectitude  and  moral  energy,  with  the 
sweetness  of  benevolent  purpose,  all  mingle  in  the  fea- 
tures.  Is  it  not  a  pleasant  conception  of  Washington  as 
a  boy  ? 

Inman  excelled  in  cabinet  pictures  of  the  school; 
though  not  in  the  manner  of  Leslie.  His  tact  and  grace 
in  this  sphere  would  have  insured  his  success  in  England, 
had  not  ill  health  and  domestic  claims  prematurely  in- 
duced his  return  to  the  United  States.  Mumble-the- 
Peg,''  and  "  The  Boyhood  of  Washington,"  before  alluded 
to,  are  very  charming  evidences  of  the  artist's  talent  in 
this  way.  Each  explains  itself  with  simplicity  and 
truth  ;  these  scenes  will  bear  careful  examination.  The 
costumes,  figures,  and  atmosphere,  are  all  combined  with 
singular  beauty  ;  and  there  is  a  certain  felicity  of  con- 
ception about  them,  which  convinces  us  that  Inman  could 
have  developed  the  same  vein  of  art  to  a  great  extent,  and 
with  uncommon  versatility.  The  landscapes,  especially 
Rydal  Water,"  "  Trout  Fishing,"  and  "  Birnham 
Wood,"  are  very  pleasing  and  effective.  The  foliage  is 
not  depicted  as  minutely  as  some  painters  like,  but  at  a 
short  distance,  the  impression  is  more  like  nature.  The 
water  is  admirable  ;  it  glints  in  the  light,  or  gurgles  over 
shallows  delightfully.  The  atmospheres,  too,  abound  in 
feeling.  Compare  the  crystal  serenity  of  that  of  Rydal 
Water,"  with  the  purple  glow  of  an  "  October  After- 
noon;" we  not  only  recognize  different  seasons  of  the 
year,  but  different  countries  of  the  world  ;  and  yet  the 
living  soul  of  nature  breathes  with  delicate  loveliness 


I  N  1^1  A  N  . 


113 


through  both,  intimating  that  the  artist  was  in  relation 
with  her,  when  he  thus  transferred  to  canvas  such  attrac- 
tive landscapes.  As  we  study  them,  we  can  almost  feel 
the  woodland  breeze,  and  hear  the  gurgle  of  the  water. 
There  is,  to  us,  a  peculiar  charm  in  the  two  little  sketches 
to  which  we  have  before  alluded.  They  were  both,  it 
seems,  executed  off-hand,  and  yet  they  are  admirable  as 
counterfeit  presentments,"  and  to  a  mind  versed  in  the 
technicalities  of  art,  suggest  Inman's  readiness  and  abi- 
lity more  significantly  than  highly  finished  and  elaborate 
productions.  To  those  who  are  familiar  with  the  coun- 
tenances of  the  subjects,  we  need  not  praise  their  fidelity  ; 
but  they  are  interesting  in  another  point  of  view — as  in- 
dications of  that  fine  social  instinct  that  endeared  Inman 
to  his  friends.  The  inscriptions  beneath  are  very  cha- 
racteristic of  the  man  :  «^  *  *  *  will  please  accept  this 
leaden  counterfeit  of  the  genuine  coin,  which  never  rings 
false  to  any  test  of  its  metal,"  &c.  The  autograph  un- 
der the  other  head  runs  thus :  "  Presented  to  *  *  * 
by  H.  I. 

"  Farewell !  but  whenever  you  welcome  the  hour 
When  the  smoke-wreaths  of  mirth,"  &c.  &c. 

Such  was  the  genial  manner  in  which  Inman  asso- 
ciated with  his  friends.  With  a  freshness  of  spirit,  that 
neither  time  nor  illness  could  subdue,  he  ever  cherished 
most  kindly  and  noble  sympathies,  the  exercise  of  which 
strews  the  pathway  of  life  with  flowers,  lends  wings  to 
hours  of  social  joy,  and  redeems  human  intercourse  from 

6* 


114 


ARTIST-LIFE. 


the  selfish  inanity  that  so  often  makes  society  a  weari- 
some, instead  of  a  soul-cheering  influence.  In  conclud- 
ing this  hasty  tribute,  we  should  be  false  to  our  sense  of 
duty  and  the  memory  of  the  departed,  did  we  not  urge 
upon  our  countrymen  to  receive  the  lesson  thus  afforded, 
and  act  wisely  upon  its  teaching. 

We  have  always  regarded  one  characteristic  of  our 
nation  with  regret  and  surprise.  It  is  their  slow  appre- 
ciation of  native  merit.  Innumerable  facts  prove  that 
there  exists  a  singular  want  of  confidence  in  the  genuine 
worth  of  the  intellectual  fruits  of  the  soil.  Take  litera- 
ture, for  instance.  What  reflecting  observer  doubts  that 
the  foundation  of  Irving's  success  was  laid  in  England  ? 
No  general  approbation  was  awarded  the  moral  essays  of 
Channing,  until  his  transatlantic  fame  awoke  an  echo  in 
the  minds  of  his  countrymen.  One  of  the  greatest  histo- 
rical painters  of  the  age,  died  a  few  months  ago  in  an 
obscure  village  near  Boston.  While  abroad,  his  society 
was  deemed  a  treasure  by  men  of  wealth  and  rank  ;  at 
home  he  was  scarcely  noticed,  save  by  some  accom- 
plished foreigners,  who  sought  out  his  retreat  to  do 
homage  to  his  genius.  Metaphysicians  in  the  old  world 
say  that  Edwards  on  the  Will  is  the  ablest  work  in  its 
department,  which  has  been  produced  in  a  century.  Its 
merit  has  scarcely  been  recognized  by  American  philo- 
sophers. Again,  experiment  proves  that  it  is  extremely 
difficult  to  support  a  single  Review  wherein  the  topics  of 
the  day  may  be  discussed  by  our  own  critics,  (and  we 
have  as  good  as  the  world  can  furnish,)  while  the  coarse 


I  N  M  A  N  . 


115 


and  partisan  views  of  Foreign  Quarterlies  are  eagerly- 
adopted.    But  it  is  needless  to  multiply  instances.  We 
consider  recent  political  organizations  as  indications  that 
this  suicidal  temper  in  our  people  has  created  alarm,  at 
least  in  relation  to  our  political  interests.    We  hope 
this  truly  patriotic  spirit  will  be  diffused,  and  pene- 
trate at  length  all  the  latent  agencies  of  society.  Then 
will  an  honest  pride  and  a  fostering  enthusiasm  guard 
and  cherish  the  literature,  science,  and  art  indigenous  to 
the  land.    Let  us  not  wait  for  death  to  canonize  our  men 
of  genius,  ere  we  appreciate  and  encourage  them.  Let 
us  hail  their  advent  as  the  greatest  blessing  to  the  repub- 
lic, and  suffer  not  indifference  or  avarice  to  blind  us  to 
the  claims  of  rare  endowments,  to  the  humanizing  and 
sacred  mission  of  the  poet,  the  artist,  the  gifted  of  what- 
ever sphere.    Ere  it  be  too  late,  let  the  fostering  hand  be 
stretched  out,  the  cordial  recognition  vouchsafed,  the 
warm  sympathy  bestowed.   Thus  shall  the  great  problem 
of  life  find  beautiful  and  enduring  illustrations  here ;  and. 
the  sensitive  mind  of  genius  be  quickened  and  strength- 
ened into  more  complete  and  lofty  development. 


COLE, 


Few  native  localities  are  more  endeared  to  the  lovers 
of  scenery  where  beauty  and  grandeur  are  happily  com- 
bined, than  the  Catskill  mountains.  The  view,  indeed, 
from  the  lofty  plain  called  Pine  Orchard,  whither  ener- 
vated citizens  repair  in  summer,  has  been  deemed  too  ex- 
tensive for  definite  impression.  Yet  it  is  impossible  to 
look  abroad  on  a  clear  day,  from  that  glorious  observa- 
tory of  Nature,  without  a  thrill  of  delight.  The  noble 
Hudson  winds,  like  a  silver  thread,  as  far  as  the  eye  can 
reach,  and  countless  meadows,  groves,  and  villages  are 
spread  out  like  a  vast  chart,  eloquently  significant  of 
natural  productiveness  and  human  well-being.  Fleecy 
clouds,  of  mottled  gold  or  saflron,  pass  below  the  specta- 
tor, and  cast  their  moving  shadows  upon  ravine  and  hill- 
side. A  pure  and  cordial  air  plays  gratefully  around 
him ;  and  near  by  are  the  fine  cascades  of  the  Kaaterskill, 
a  mountain  stream  fed  by  two  diminutive  lakes  higher  up 
the  range.  Nestled  near  the  river,  and  about  twelve 
miles  from  this  favorite  point  of  view,  is  the  town  of  Cats- 
kill,  the  vicinity  of  which  has  long  been  the  residence  of 


COLE. 


117 


Cole.  We  can  imagine  no  more  desirable  home  in  the 
country  for  a  landscape  painter.  The  variety  of  moun- 
tain, stream,  foliage,  and  sky  ever  offered  to  his  observa- 
tion, furnish  exhaustless  materials  for  study ;  and  he  is 
doubtless  indebted  in  no  small  measure  for  his  acknow- 
ledged fidelity  to  nature,  to  these  familiar  opportunities. 
In  the  course  of  these  papers  we  have  had  occasion  to 
note  that  vicissitude  seems  to  mark  the  early  career  of 
artists.  The  same  fact  is  true  of  Cole.  He  was  brought 
to  America  while  a  child,  as  was  the  case  with  Leslie, 
by  English  parents  who  sought  to  revive  their  crushed 
fortunes  in  the  new  world.  His  father  established  a  pa- 
per-hanging manufactory  in  Ohio,  and  it  was  by  design- 
ing, and  combining  the  pigments  in  this  establishment, 
that  the  son  learned  the  rudiments  of  his  art.  He  also 
had  his  day-dreams  in  the  magnificent  woods  that  skirted 
the  Ohio;  he  read,  and  dallied  somewhat  with  music, 
until  his  young  spirit  awakened,  and  this  isolated  life  act- 
ing upon  a  sensitive  temperament,  rendered  him  so  keen- 
ly alive  to  impressions,  that  he  declares  he  could  hear  his 
heart  beat  in  the  presence  of  people  neither  distinguished 
or  talented.  At  length  a  portrait  painter  came  to  the  ob- 
scure village  where  he  lived,  and  soon  initiated  him  into 
a  higher  sphere  of  art  than  he  had  yet  attempted ;  so  that 
one  frosty  morning,  he  started  off,  like  Goldsmith,  with  his 
flute,  his  palette,  brushes,  and  a  little  clothing  in  a  green 
bag,  and  played  his  way  over  many  a  weary  league,  eat- 
ing his  crust  by  the  road-side  brook.  His  father  soon  en- 
tered upon  a  new  species  of  business,  where  his  services 


118 


ARTIST-LIFE. 


were  again  required  ;  but  from  time  to  time,  he  prosecut- 
ed his  art — studying  the  picturesque  along  the  Mononga- 
hela,  wandering  in  cold  and  heat  among  the  AUeghanies, 
and  thus  inuring  a  frame  naturally  delicate  to  exposure 
and  deprivation.  Finally  he  made  his  way  to  Philadel- 
phia, and  was  bewildered  by  his  first  view  of  the  trophies 
of  art  at  the  Academy  in  that  city,  From  painting  bel- 
lows, and  a  transparency  to  celebrate  Lafayette's  arrival 
at  the  Quaker  metropolis,  he  came  to  New-York  and  set 
up  his  easel  in  a  garret.  But  here  Durand  and  Trum- 
bull appreciated  his  talents.  His  views  of  the  Hudson 
charmed  some  wealthy  Knickerbockers,  and  Cole  receiv- 
ed substantial  encouragement.  Besides  two  eminently 
profitable  visits  to  Europe,  he  has  since  followed  his  art 
at  home,  with  unremitting  assiduity  and  distinguished 
success.  When  his  autumnal  landscapes  were  first  seen 
in  England,  their  gorgeous  hues  were  regarded  as  an  ex- 
travagant Yankee  invention,  so  unaware  were  foreign 
amateurs  of  the  brilliant  freaks  of  the  early  frost  on  this 
side  of  the  water.  His  allegorical  pictures  are  perhaps 
the  most  celebrated  of  his  works — and  as  compositions 
they  display  uncommon  genius  ;  but  he  does  not  excel  in 
the  figure,  and  sometimes  his  masterly  atmosphere,  rocks, 
and  foliage  exhibit  a  remarkable  contrast  to  this  deficien- 
cy. It  is  on  this  account,  perhaps,  that  Cole  is  chiefly 
admired  for  his  landscapes,  which  often  exhibit  an  authen- 
ticity and  feeling  as  rare  as  it  is  attractive.  No  Ameri- 
can painter  has  so  completely  identified  himself  with  his 
land's  features  ;  his  pencil  having  fulfilled  the  same  of- 
fice to  our  scenery  as  Bryant's  verse. 


COLE. 


119 


Among  his  recent  pictures  are  two  beautiful  illustra- 
tions of  Italian  scenery.  They  represent  the  extremes  of 
the  cheerful  and  the  sombre,  which  make  the  contrasts  of 
view  in  southern  Europe  so  impressive.  One  of  these 
pictures,  to  which  we  believe  the  artist  has  given  the 
name  of  V Allegro,  has  a  fine  perpendicular  cliff  in  the 
back-ground,  arched  by  a  serene  and  lucent  sky.  The 
light  plays  richly  through  a  weed-grown  arch,  peasants 
dance  on  the  bright  sandy  shore;  the  verdure  is  fresh  and 
vivid,  and  the  atmosphere  transparent  and  exhilarating  in 
its  tone.  The  piece  is  a  composition,  and  sparkles  with 
the  buoyant  nature  of  Parthenope,  "  touched  to  finer 
issues"  by  the  picturesque  ruins.  The  companion  pic- 
ture, {II  Penseroso,)  represents  a  lake  near  Albano,  in  the 
Roman  territory.  The  shores  rise  abruptly  to  a  great 
height,  and  are  covered  with  dense  and  shadowy  foliage. 
A  dash  of  Salvator's  gloom  broods  over  the  scene,  and 
an  ancient  shrine  before  which  a  single  peasant  kneels, 
increases  the  religious  solemnity  of  the  landscape. 

Of  his  American  views,  one  of  the  most  attractive  is 
"  The  Hunter's  Return."  It  is  a  composition,  with  the 
exception  of  one  noble  mountain  in  the  back-ground, 
which  is  copied  from  a  remarkable  spur  of  the  White 
Hills.  The  scene  is  an  opening  in  the  forest,  where,  be- 
side a  transparent  lake  and  beneath  the  impending  hill- 
sides, appears  a  settler's  log-hut,  with  its  adjacent  cabbage 
garden.  From  the  opposite  thicket  approach  two  bluff 
hunters,  with  a  deer  slung  on  a  pole,  and  borne  on  their 
shoulders.  One  waves  his  cap  to  the  wife,  who  stands  by 


120 


A  R  T  1  S  T-L  1  F  E  . 


the  hut  door,  and  holds  up  her  infant  to  greet  his  return. 
In  advance  hurries  the  eldest  son  with  the  dog.  There 
is  a  rustic  bridge,  the  stumps  of  a  clearing,  two  or  three 
prostrate  birch  trunks,  and  all  the  objects  incident  to  such 
a  scene ;  while  around  tower  the  evergreen  firs,  maples, 
oaks,  and  beeches, — their  foliage  kindled  with  all  the 
splendid  dyes  of  an  American  autumn  ;  and  far  above, 
serenely  arching  the  misty  hill  tops,  spreads  the  clear 
blue  sky,  mottled  with  gold.  It  is  altogether  a  beautiful 
and  most  authentic  illustration  of  American  life  and 
nature. 

One  of  the  most  highly  finished  works  of  this  artist 
is  an  oval  landscape — the  light  radiating  from  the  centre — 
an  experiment  which  proves  entirely  successful  in  his 
hands.  The  tone  of  this  picture  is  quite  Claude-like. 
The  foliage  is  autumnal,  and  in  the  painter's  best  style, 
and  the  whole  effect  is  poetical  in  the  highest  degree. 
This  gem  illustrates  the  well-known  verses  of  Mrs.  He- 
mans,  entitled  "The  Cross  in  the  Wilderness."  Cole  has 
put  upon  canvas  the  picture  described  in  the  two  follow- 
ing stanzas,  in  a  manner  that  would  have  charmed  the 
delicate  taste  of  the  sweet  poetess: 

"  Silent  and  mournful  sat  an  Indian  Chief, 

In  the  red  sunset,  by  a  grassy  tomb  ; 
His  eyes,  that  might  not  weep,  were  dark  with  grief, 

And  his  arms  folded  in  majestic  gloom, 
And  his  bow  lay  unstrung  beneath  the  mound, 

Which  sanctified  the  gorgeous  waste  around. 


COLE. 


121 


"  For  a  pale  cross  above  its  greensward  rose, 
Telling  the  cedars  and  the  pines  that  there 
Man's  heart  and  hope  had  struggled  with  his  woes, 

And  lifted  from  the  dust  a  voice  of  prayer. 
Now  all  was  hushed,  and  eve's  last  splendor  shone 
With  a  rich  sadness  on  th'  attesting  stone." 

His  Roman  acqueduct  breathes  the  very  loneliness 
and  sublime  desolation  of  the  Campagna.  It  is  not  a  few 
barren  fields  and  arches  of  decaying  brick  that  we  be- 
hold, but  the  silent  arena  of  a  vanished  world.  There 
are  certainly  fewer  good  landscape  pictures,"  says  one 
of  Cole's  letters,  "  in  proportion  to  their  number,  than  of 
historical.  In  landscape  there  is  a  greater  variety  of  ob- 
jects, textures,  and  phenomena  to  imitate.  It  has  expres- 
sion, also ;  not  of  passion,  to  be  sure,  but  of  sentiment — 
whether  it  be  tranquil  or  spirit-stirring;  its  seasons, 
sunrise,  sunset,  storm,  the  calm,  various  kinds  of  trees, 
herbage,  waters,  mountains,  skies.  And  whatever  scene 
is  chosen,  one  spirit  pervades  the  whole — light  and  dark- 
ness tremble  in  the  atmosphere,  and  each  change  trans- 
mutes." There  spoke  the  poet,  and  his  canvas  gives  the 
same  dreamy  impression,  the  same  pensive  or  bright 
mood,  that  the  best  verse  inspires.  How  well  the  vivid 
green,  the  Arcadian  fertility  of  the  vale,  contrasts  with 
the  shadowy  mist  around  the  base  of  Etna  !  The  lateral 
sunbeams  warm  the  floating  vapors,  and  light  up  the  olive- 
clumps  and  broad  leaves  of  the  aloe,  to  an  Eden  freshness. 
We  involuntarily  sigh  to  be  in  that  lettiga  (comfortless 
vehicle  that  it  is)  now  winding  down  the  mountain. 


122 


ARTIST- LIFE. 


One  thin  light  stream  of  smoke  is  slowly  wreathing  up- 
ward from  the  cone,  and  about  its  dark  sides  how  beau- 
tiful are  the  snow-drifts.  Never  was  a  mountain  more 
faithfully  portrayed.  It  comes  back  to  us  like  a  won- 
drous dream.  The  whole  is  conceived  in  exactly  the 
mood  to  which  an  imaginative  mind  is  lured  by  the  un- 
equalled scene. 


LESLIE, 


At  Victoria's  coronation,  very  desirable  seats  were 
given  to  academicians.  During  Sully's  last  visit  to  Lon- 
don, Leslie  one  day  was  describing  the  spectacle  to  him 
with  an  artist's  enthusiasm  ;  and  dwelt  especially  upon  the 
manner  in  which  the  central  figure  struck  his  vision,  as 
a  gleam  of  sunshine  played  upon  the  ermine  of  the  peers, 
and  the  diamond  wheat  in  the  hair  of  the  maids  of  honor, 
until  it  fell,  like  a  halo,  around  the  head  of  the  fair 
young  queen,  kneeling  to  receive  the  sacrament.  Sully, 
with  his  usual  consideration,  suggested  to  Leslie  to  paint 
what  so  obviously  haunted  his  imagination  ;  and  a  few 
days  after,  he  found  the  artist  brooding  over  the  subject, 
for  it  is  one  of  his  peculiar  habits  to  complete  a  picture 
in  his  mind  before  touching  the  canvas.  Accordingly, 
after  long  deliberation,  the  light,  shade,  and  grouping, 
were  arranged  to  his  satisfaction.  The  principal  char- 
ters present  on  this  occasion,  agreed  to  sit  for  their  por- 
traits, and  her  majesty  cordially  favored  the  design.  The 
beautiful  scene  was  thus  commemorated  with  exquisite 
skill  and  taste.    It  served  to  renew  Leslie's  popularity. 


124 


ARTIST-LIFE. 


and  will  ever  be  a  charming  evidence  of  his  tasteful 
ability  and  artistic  power. 

To  be  moved  by  gentle  excitements  and  won  by  quiet 
charms,  proves  refinement  of  feeling  and  alacrity  of  mind. 
It  is  one  of  the  most  striking  tokens  of  advancing  civili- 
zation, that  popular  amusements  gradually  lose  all 
coarseness.  The  sports  of  the  arena  give  way  to  the 
drama ;  buffoonery  and  horrors  are  succeeded  by  classic 
dialogue  and  inspiring  arias.  Painting  exemplifies  the 
same  transition ;  and  from  martyrdoms  and  heathen  di- 
vinities by  degrees  turns  to  domestic  scenes  and  glimpses 
of  humor  and  sentiment.  The  school  of  modern  En- 
glish art  is  the  legitimate  offspring  of  her  high  civiliza- 
tion. As  in  science  cognizance  is  now  taken  of  minutiae 
on  account  of  the  spread  of  general  knowledge,  in  art, 
the  details  of  life  awaken  an  interest,  and  furnish  a  re- 
source unavailable  in  earlier  times,  when  a  few  leading 
ideas  moved  society.  The  change  is  less  favorable  to 
the  grand  than  the  graceful  development  of  talent.  Still 
there  is  a  wholesome  principle  in  quiet  gratification,  and 
taste  is  no  uncertain  guide  to  truth.  Our  sympathies 
would  soon  lapse  from  pure  exhaustion,  had  we  only 
Lady  Macbeths  and  Othellos  ;  and  Shakspeare's  genuine 
humanity  is  no  less  effectively  displayed  in  his  Violas 
and  Mercutios.  Leslie's  first  successful  attempt  was  a 
likeness  of  Cooke,  the  tragedian,  taken  at  the  theatre, 
while  apprentice  to  a  Philadelphia  bookseller.  He  soon 
copied  admirably,  and  became,  like  most  of  his  fraternity, 
early  occupied  with  portraits.    After  teaching  drawing 


LESLIE. 


125 


a  short  time  at  W est  Point,  he  resigned  the  appointment, 
returned  to  England,  and  has  since  enjoyed  the  liberal 
encouragement  which  no  other  country  is  so  well  adapted 
to  yield  the  kind  of  genius  by  which  he  is  distinguished. 
She  claims  him  as  her  own,  but  although  born  there,  his 
parents  were  American,  and  his  first  lessons  in  art  re- 
ceived on  this  side  of  the  water. 

It  has  been  well  said  that  habit  alone  prevents  us 
from  recognizing  a  miracle  every  day.  Were  our  sen- 
sibilities always  keen,  and  our  observation  ever  active, 
the  most  familiar  phenomena  would  excite  wonder.  A 
pampered  taste,  and  feelings  blunted  by  custom  that 
"  makes  dotards  of  us  all,"  rear  the  most  formidable 
barrier  between  what  is  really  interesting  and  the  mind. 
It  is  on  this  account  that  writers  continually  seek  in  the 
extraordinary,  aliment  for  public  curiosity  ;  and  for  the 
same  reason,  inferior  artists  often  address  themselves  to 
very  odd  or  sublime  themes,  with  a  view  of  winning  ad- 
miration. Experiment  has  proved,  however,  that  there 
is  a  vast  and  but  partially  explored  domain  around  us, 
neither  supernatural  nor  melo-dramatic,  which  may  be 
vividly  illustrated,  if  wisely  used.  Perhaps  there  is  no 
sphere  either  of  art  or  literature  which  yields  such  per- 
fectly healthful  results  and  which  so  abounds  in  human 
nature's  daily  food."  The  poet  from  whom  this  phrase 
is  quoted,  is  an  instance  in  point.  He  has  succeeded  in 
imparting  an  ideal  interest  to  the  common  aspects  of  na- 
ture. Some  of  the  British  essayists  achieved  the  same 
result  by  their  clever  treatment  of  social  and  local  traits, 


126 


ARTIST-LIFE. 


which  in  themselves,  appeared  utterly  devoid  of  what  is 
called  effect ;  and  judicious  readers  welcome  an  element 
so  wholly  free  from  morbid  excitement  and  artificial  ap- 
pliances. In  the  world  of  art  there  also  exists  a  kind  of 
table-land,  equally  distant  from  mountain  grandeur  and 
flowery  vales,  where  a  cheerful  tone  and  quiet  harmony 
refresh  the  senses  and  gratify,  without  disturbing  the 
heart.  In  an  age  like  the  present,  those  who  thus  minis- 
ter to  the  more  tranquil  pleasures  of  imagination,  exercise 
a  benign  vocation.  They  may  not  thrill,  but  they  often 
charm.  Their  labors  create  no  epochs  of  inward  life, 
yet  they  often  cheer  and  solace.  The  lesson  conveyed 
may  be  calm,  but  it  is  not  the  less  refreshing ;  and  the 
associations  enkindled,  like  a  bland  atmosphere,  yield  a 
pastime  none  the  less  desirable,  because  it  is  unmarked 
either  by  tears  or  laughter,  and  is  indicated  only  through 
an  unconscious  smile  or  placid  reverie. 

We  designate  the  principle  in  view,  when  socially 
manifested,  by  such  humble  epithets  as  agreeable.  As 
humor  differs  from  wit,  peace  from  rapture,  satisfaction 
from  delight,  the  appropriate  from  the  impressive,  this 
quiet  aim  and  peculiar  grace  is  distinguishable  from  more 
exciting  influences.  As  exhibited  in  painting,  it  is  as  far 
removed  from  Dutch  homeliness  as  from  Italian  exalta- 
tion, and  partakes  as  little  of  grotesque  caricature  as  of 
lofty  sentiment.  It  is  domestic,  natural,  unpretending, 
yet  true  and  attractive.  It  is  the  neutral  tint  in  color, 
the  undulating  in  movement,  the  gentle  in  sound,  and  the 
pleasant  in  experience,  appealing  not  to  high  veneration 


LESLIE. 


127 


or  deep  love,  but  gratefully  allying  itself  to  ready  and 
home-bred  sympathies.  Of  all  our  painters,  Leslie  excels 
in  this  department.  His  Sir  Roger  de  Coverley,  Sancho 
Panza  and  the  Duchess,  Sterne  at  the  Glove  Shop,  Anne 
Page  and  Master  Slender,  are  gems  of  their  kind.  He  is 
such  a  limner  of  inanners  as  was  Steele  in  language. 
His  subjects  are  chiefly  drawn  from  life,  not  in  its  ex- 
tremes, but  its  refinements.  His  pictures  are  caught 
from  family  associations  and  household  literature.  They 
embellish  the  scenes  of  domestic  taste.  He  follows  na- 
ture in  her  choicest  moods.  To  few  artists  may  be  more 
justly  applied  the  term  intellectual.  His  style  is  elegant, 
his  sentiment  and  humor  delicate,  and  his  strength  lies  in 
the  fine  proof  rather  than  the  massiveness  of  his  arms. 
As  a  gentleman's  example  raises  the  tone  of  breeding, 
Leslie's  genius  redeems  art  from  coarseness.  His  wo- 
men are  not  heroines,  but  they  are  winsome  and  accom- 
plished. He  distils  poetry  from  the  common-place,  and 
throws  a  fanciful  charm  around  the  familiar.  He  is  ju- 
dicious, penetrating,  and  graceful,  and  hence  tells  a  very 
intelligible  anecdote  on  canvas,  in  a  simple,  yet  beautiful 
way.  It  is  these  characteristics  that  make  him  so  apt 
and  satisfactory  an  interpreter  of  the  Spectator,  and 
Uncle  Toby,  Irving,  and  the  more  airy  passages  of 
Shakspeare's  comedy. 


WEIR. 


To  be  thoroughly  appreciated,  the  scenery  of  the 
Hudson  should  be  viewed  in  mid-winter  as  well  as  at 
more  inviting  seasons.  When  the  ice  shivers  before  the 
prow  of  the  steamer,  and  the  high  and  lonely  hills  on 
either  side,  are  snow-clad  ;  when  the  only  hues  that  relieve 
the  surrounding  whiteness  are  the  pale  blue  of  the  sky  and 
the  dark  green  of  the  firs  and  cedars,  a  scene  is  present- 
ed more  striking  to  the  imagination,  from  the  reverse  it 
affords  to  the  same  picture  when  alive  with  the  freshness 
of  spring,  or  mellowed  by  the  glow  of  autumn.  Analo- 
gous to  such  a  contrast  is  that  between  the  phases  of 
Weir's  destiny  when  he  sailed  up  the  noble  river  in  a 
sloop,  thirty  years  ago — exiled,  by  the  misfortunes  of  his 
father,  while  yet  a  child,  to  the  home  of  an  ungenial  re- 
lative, his  young  yet  already  troubled  eyes  bent  on  the 
cold  features  of  that  wintry  landscape — and  when  he  now 
looks  from  his  romantic  abode  upon  the  wild  umbrage  of 
Cro'nest,  the  honored  teacher  of  West  Point,  and  the  artist 
of  established  fame. 

Burns  immortalized  a  sentiment  common  to  all  men 


WEIR. 


129 


of  genius  when  he  declared  independence  to  be  the  "glo- 
rious privilege  "  for  which  alone  money  was  desirable. 
It  is  a  trait  of  artist-life,  evidenced  in  countless  biogra- 
phies, to  chafe  under  a  sense  of  obligation  and  contemn 
all  interference  unauthorized  by  sympathy.    It  is  in  this 
spirit  that  Hamlet  enumerates,  among  his  other  reasons 
in  the  famous  soliloquy,  for  indifference  to  life,  the 
"  spurns  which  patient  merit  of  the  unworthy  takes."  In 
boyhood.  Weir  sacrificed  his  inclinations  to  filial  duty, 
and  postponed  the  indulgence  of  his  aspiring  tastes  rather 
than  be  the  occasion  of  needless  solicitude  to  those  inte- 
rested in  his  welfare.    Even  they  acquiesced  in  the  ex- 
pediency of  securing  an  education,  however  limited,  and 
after  a  year's  vain  attempt  to  reconcile  himself  to  the 
home  offered  by  his  kinsman,  he  returned  to  New- York. 
It  has  often  been  remarked  that  very  slight  circumstances 
afiect  the  destiny  of  those  who  possess  marked  character- 
istics.   It  happened  that  the  house  where  young  Weir 
attended  school  was  directly  opposite  the  rooms  of  Jarvis, 
the  painter.    At  that  period  studios  were  by  no  means 
common,  and  this  one — associated  as  it  was  with  a  popu- 
lar name,  and  enshrining  the  mysteries  of  an  art  compar- 
atively little  known  and  less  practised^ — became  a  sort  of 
enchanted  spot  to  the  schoolboy.  Day  after  day  he  loitered 
about  the  door,  and  at  last  summoned  courage  to  enter. 
The  painter  was  absent,  but  several  of  his  pupils  were  at 
work,  and  they  became  interested  by  the  ardent  curiosity 
of  their  visitor,  and  kindly  replied  to  his  many  questions. 
Here  for  the  first  time  he  saw  Inman,  little  imagining  that 

7 


130 


ARTIST-LIFE. 


after  years  would  unite  them  so  cordially  in  the  glori- 
ous brotherhood  of  Art.  This  episode  of  his  early  youth, 
while  it  awakened  the  latent  desires  of  the  artist,  did  not 
beguile  him  from  the  stern  duties  of  the  man.  A  situation 
was  obtained  for  him  in  a  respectable  French  mercantile 
concern  at  the  south,  and  in  eighteen  months  a  branch 
was  established  in  New-York,  of  which  he  was  made  head 
clerk.  It  was  then  that  he  formed  the  resolution  gradu- 
ally to  emancipate  himself  from  a  pursuit  which  required 
either  capital  or  life-long  drudgery  to  accomplish  its  ends, 
by  cultivating  his  own  powers  until  they  should  become 
available  resources  both  for  subsistence  and  fame.  From 
six  to  eight  in  the  morning  he  studied  with  a  painter  in 
heraldry,  and  then  entered  upon  his  daily  task.  After 
the  usual  trials  of  patience,  he  produced  in  1821,  a  copy 
of  a  portrait  which  obtained  for  him  a  liberal  commission. 
Thus  encouraged,  he  turned  his  entire  attention  to  paint- 
ing. 

Before  visiting  Europe,  Weir  sought  effect  in  art 
through  a  bold  and  rapid  style.  The  great  advantage 
he  derived  from  the  study  of  master-pieces  abroad,  was  a 
conviction  of  the  need  of  careful  and  elaborate  finish. 
Like  most  American  painters,  he  learned  that  he  had 
commenced  where  he  should  have  ended,  that  he  had 
boldly  launched  upon  an  adventurous  career  without  due 
preparation.  He  now  understood  what  lasting  and  bril- 
liant triumphs  could  be  realized  through  patience.  There 
is  a  spirit  of  calm,  progressive  labor  essential  to  great 
success  in  Art,  to  which  the  very  atmosphere  of  our  coun- 


WEIR. 


try  seems  unfavorable,  and  faith  in  this  influence  is  per- 
haps the  choicest  blessing  which  our  artists  acquire  in  the 
Old  World.    Weir  naturally  reverenced  truth  ;  he  need- 
ed but  to  see  her  light  in  order  to  accept  it ;  and  as  he 
beheld  the  trophies  of  his  beautiful  profession  in  the  gal- 
leries of  Italy,  and  recognized  the  tranquil,  pains-taking, 
and  earnest  labor  to  which  alone  can  be  ascribed  their 
enduring  fame,  he  determined  to  acquire  habits  of  care 
and  precision,  and  learn  to  express  his  ideas  without 
vagueness,  and  in  the  clear,  well-defined,  and  highly-fin- 
ished manner  that  he  now  knew  to  be  the  genuine  lan- 
guage of  art.    There  is  no  more  excellent  test  of  charac- 
ter than  a  revolution  of  habits.    Weir  brought  all  his  en- 
ergies to  this  task.    He  became  for  a  short  time  the  pupil 
of  Bevenuti,  who  was  then  adorning  the  Pitti  Palace  with 
the  life  of  Hercules  in  fresco.    From  the  figures  of  the 
Grecian  mythology  he  turned  to  the  simplest  natural  ob- 
jects in  the  fields  and  by  the  roadside,  and  practised  draw- 
ing from  the  models  and  casts  of  the  academy,  while  he 
enlarged  his  ideas  of  color  by  the  study  of  Titian  and  Paul 
Veronese.    For  him  as  well  as  for  other  strangers,  it  was 
impossible  to  reconcile  the  enthusiasm  of  the  modern  Ital- 
ians for  the  warm  tints  of  the  Venetian  school  with  their 
own  cold  and  monotonous  hues,  and  the  proficiency  of 
their  best  painters  as  draughtsmen  with  their  inadequate 
notions  of  color.    After  painting  two  sacred  themes — 
Christ  and  Nicodemus,"  and     The  Angel  relieving 
Peter" — at  Florence,  one  rainy  day  in  December,  1825, 
he  entered  Rome.    Greenough  and  himself  occupied 


132 


ARTIST-LIFE. 


rooms  together  on  the  Pincian  hill,  opposite  the  house  of 
Claude  Loraine,  and  between  those  known  as  Salvator 
Rosa's  and  Nicolo  Poussin's.  Weir's  account  of  his  life 
at  Rome  resembles  that  of  other  students  who  go  thither 
for  improvement — exhibiting  the  same  quiet  habits,  in- 
tense application,  occasional  holidays,  and  cheerful  econ- 
omy. Early  in  the  day  he  studied  at  home,  or  drew  from 
the  antique  at  the  French  Academy  ;  after  breakfast  it 
was  his  custom  to  go  to  the  Sistine  Chapel,  the  Vatican, 
or  some  private  palace,  and  work  until  three  o'clock^ 
when  they  were  closed.  He  then  either  sought  his  own 
studio,  or  the  adjacent  campagna  to  sketch  from  nature. 
With  an  appetite  sharpened  by  exercise,  he  repaired  to- 
wards evening  to  a  favorite  trattoria — once  the  painting- 
room  of  Pompio  Bassoni,  whose  boundless  egotism  Rey- 
nolds has  recorded — and  after  dining,  joined  his  brother 
artists  at  the  CafFe  del  Greco.  From  the  fragrant  smoke 
and  light-hearted  chat  of  this  unique  rendezvous,  Weir 
hastened  to  the  life-school ;  and  at  nine  o'clock,  when  the 
nights  were  fine,  went  forth  amid  the  moonlight  to  enrich 
his  portfolio  with  views  of  the  ruins,  and  his  memory  with 
dreams  whose  touching  solemnity  melts  the  heart  and 
exalts  the  fancy.  It  is  a  characteristic  anecdote  of  artist- 
life,  that  at  this  period  he  lived  a  month  upon  ten  cents  a 
day,  in  order  to  atone  for  the  extravagant  purchase  of  a 
suit  of  armor.  The  basis  of  all  real  mental  aptitude  and 
power,  is  doubtless  good  sense,  and  Weir  evinced  his  re- 
liance on  this  quality  by  the  judicious  use  he  made  of  his 
experience  abroad.    He  saw  and  condemned  the  slavery 


WEIR. 


of  the  Italians  to  the  past,  their  bigoted  adherence  to  a 
certain  manner,  and  their  want  of  sympathy  with  nature ; 
and  while  he  availed  himself  of  what  was  really  desirable 
in  schools,  kept  his  attention  fixed  chiefly  upon  truth  wher- 
ever discoverable.  In  cherishing  this  independent  spirit, 
he  was  true  to  his  birthright,  and  because  he  loved  the 
beautiful  as  illustrated  in  Italy,  ceased  not  to  be  faithful 
to  the  free  principles  of  thought  and  sentiment  he  had 
brought  from  America. 

It  is  curious  to  note  how  the  ideal  and  prosaic  some- 
times meet  in  the  lives  of  artists.  Their  pursuits  ally 
them  to  the  world  of  imagination,  to  the  domain  of  the 
beautiful,  to  a  contemplative  and  abstract  sphere ;  while 
their  actual  existence,  like  that  of  other  men,  is  environed 
by  circumstance  which  some  poet  justly  calls  the  unspi- 
ritual  god.  The  pecuniary  reverses  of  his  father  obliged 
Weir,  in  the  very  hey-day  of  his  youth,  to  enter  a  cotton 
factory,  but  in  a  few  months  he  was  dismissed  for  having 
so  carelessly  attended  the  spinning  jennies,  and  so  aptly 
caricatured  one  of  his  supervisors.  In  the  midst  of  influ- 
ences so  opposed  to  his  instincts,  one  naturally  wonders 
that  they  should  have  asserted  themselves.  Yet  there 
is  no  truth  better  established  than  the  supremacy  of  na- 
ture and  character  over  conventionalism  and  accident.  It 
may  be  long  before  the  electric  chain  "  is  struck,  but 
when  once  the  spark  ignites,  the  promptings  of  destiny 
are  conscious  and  permanent.  What  then  is  taste 
says  Akenside — 


134 


ARTIST-LIFE. 


"  What  then  is  taste,  but  these  mternal  powers 
Active  and  strong,  and  feelingly  alive 
To  each  fine  impulse  ? 

This,  nor  gems  nor  stores  of  gold. 
Nor  purple  state,  nor  culture  can  bestow  ; 
But  God  alone,  when  first  his  active  hand 
Imprints  the  secret  bias  of  the  soul." 

That  secret  bias  was  revealed  to  Weir  in  the  course  of 
his  desultory  reading.  He  fell  in  with  a  copy  of  Dry- 
den's  translation  of  Du  Fresnoy's  poem.  The  triumphs 
of  the  art  so  melodiously  set  forth  in  those  heroic  coup- 
lets, stirred  the  very  heart  and  drew  tears  from  the  eyes 
of  the  enthusiastic  boy.  In  such  a  peaceful  field  he 
longed  to  win  the  laurel,  and  already  beheld  in  fancy  the 
hallowed  trophies,  and  felt  the  magic  gifts  commemo- 
rated by  the  poet : — 

"  See  Raffaelle  there  his  forms  celestial  trace, 
Unrivalled  sovereign  of  the  realms  of  grace  ; 
See  Angelo,  with  energy  divine, 
Seize  on  the  summit  of  correct  design  ; 
Learn  how  at  Julio's  birth  the  muses  smiled. 
And  in  their  mystic  caverns  nurs'd  the  child  ; 
Bright  beyond  all  the  rest,  Correggio  flings 
His  ample  lights,  and  round  them  gently  brings 
The  mingling  shade :  in  all  his  works  we  view 
Grandeur  of  style  and  chastity  of  hue. 
Yet  higher  still  great  Titian  dared  to  soar  ; 
He  reach'd  the  loftiest  heights  of  coloring's  power : 
His  friendly  tints  in  happiest  mixture  flow  ; 
His  shades  and  lights  their  just  gradation  know  ; 


WEIR. 


135 


His  were  those  dear  delusions  of  the  art 
That  round,  relieve,  inspirit  every  part. 
From  all  their  charms  combined,  v^ith  happy  toil. 
Did  Annibal  compose  his  wondrous  style  ; 
O'er  the  fair  fraud  so  close  a  veil  is  thrown, 
That  every  borrow'd  grace  becomes  his  own." 

The  illness  of  a  countryman  and  fellow-student  in- 
duced Weir  to  relinquish  his  project  of  a  tour  in  the 
north  of  Italy,  and  a  brief  sojourn  in  France.  His 
cheerful  abandonment  of  designs  so  ardently  cherished 
and  fitted  to  enlarge  his  views  of  art,  for  the  purpose  of 
fulfilling  his  duties  as  a  friend,  indicates  a  true  nobility 
of  heart.    Indeed,  we  have  seldom  known  more  loyal  and 

m 

disinterested  vigils  than  were  those  kept  by  the  generous 
painter  beside  his  suffering  companion ;  nor  did  his  assi- 
duous kindness  terminate  until  he  had  conveyed  the  invalid 
in  safety  to  his  distant  home.  Those  who  have  known  what 
it  is  to  meet  illness  and  death  in  a  foreign  land,  when 
every  pang  is  rendered  more  acute  by  the  desolate  sen- 
sation of  exile,  can  alone  realize  how  precious  are  minis- 
trations such  as  these.  In  a  spirit  worthy  of  a  true  art- 
ist. Weir  yielded  his  personal  objects,  ceased  his  win- 
some studies,  and  turned  aside  from  the  attractive  objects 
around  him,  to  watch  over  his  countryman.  He  left  the 
shores  of  Europe  with  the  regret  which  his  limited 
acquaintance  with  her  treasures  of  art  would  naturally 
excite  in  such  a  mind.  He  was  cheered,  however,  by 
the  satisfaction  of  having  saved  the  life  of  a  gifted  bro- 
ther, and  the  hope  of  subsequently  revisiting  the  scenes 


136 


A  R  T  I  S  T  -  L  1  F  E  , 


of  their  mutual  studies.  Circumstances  soon  led  him 
indefinitely  to  postpone  the  realization  of  this  idea.  "  I 
feel  myself,"  he  observes  in  a  letter  written  a  few  years 
after,  "  anchored  for  life,  especially  as  I  have  some  little 
kedges  out  which  have  moored  me  to  the  soil," 

We  have  alluded  more  than  once  to  the  discourage- 
ments which  obstruct  artist-life  in  America,  its  compara- 
tive  isolation  and  want  of  sympathy,  and  the  necessity  of 
sacrificing  large  designs  to  immediate  exigencies.  In 
view  of  these  shadows  in  the  common  lot  of  artists,  Weir 
may  be  considered  as  more  than  usually  fortunate.  The 
immediate  successor  of  Leslie,  he  has  for  the  last  ten 
years  filled  the  ofiice  of  instructor  in  drawing  at  the 
U.  S.  Military  Academy  at  West  Point.  It  is  a  field  of 
eminent,  though  unpretending  usefulness,  and  its  duties 
occupy  only  a  certain  portion  of  the  day,  so  that  ampl^ 
leisure  remains  for  the  artist's  private  labors.  The 
choice  of  Weir  was  most  happy  for  the  institution.  His 
tone  of  character,  habits  of  method,  and  personal  bear- 
ing, not  less  than  his  high  reputation  as  a  painter,  give  a 
dignity  to  the  situation ;  and,  as  might  have  been  confi- 
dently predicted,  both  officers  and  cadets  regard  him 
with  the  greatest  pride  and  affection.  As  to  the  success 
which  attends  his  instructions,  it  is  enough  perhaps  to 
say,  that  the  average  degree  of  merit  evinced  by  the 
drawings  exhibited  at  the  last  examination,  quite  aston- 
ished all  present  who  had  been  accustomed  to  think  that 
proficiency  in  this  branch  depends  upon  a  special  endow- 
ment.   It  is  true,  there  were  obvious  grades  of  ability? 


AV  E  I  R  . 


137 


but  few  institutions,  even  where  drawing  is  learned  from 
choice,  and  not  as  a  requirement,  can  furnish  such  exam- 
ples of  freedom,  accuracy  and  skill. 

At  West  Point,  Weir  painted  his  "  Embarkation  of 
the  Pilgrims."  This  work  was  undertaken  in  accord- 
ance with  a  resolution  of  Congress,  as  one  of  the  histo- 
rical series  designed  to  adorn  the  rotunda  of  the  Capitol. 
The  subject  was  adopted  as  illustrative  of  what  has  ever 
been  deemed  the  event  of  greatest  moral  significance 
in  our  annals.  Local  feeling,  and  the  complacent  fluency 
with  which  New  England  writers  and  speakers  dwell 
upon  home  themes,  have  doubtless  exaggerated  its  value ; 
and  it  is  not  quite  just  to  accept  without  reserve  the 
motto  which  partial  eulogists  have  recognized  in  behalf 
of  that  stern  little  band  of  dissenters,  "  with  these  men 
came  the  germ  of  the  republic."  As  an  element  of  civil- 
ization and  national  growth,  the  inflexible  qualities  of  the 
Puritan  character  possess  high  claims  to  admiration ; 
yet  that  such  a  form  of  human  development  lacks  much 
that  is  essential  of  grace,  beauty,  comprehensiveness,  and 
the  generous  sympathies,  cannot  and  ought  not  to  be  de- 
nied. Spiritual  pride  and  selfish  aims  mingled  with  the 
zealous  faith  of  the  Pilgrims.  Their  virtues  were  more 
stoical  than  spontaneous.  They  fostered  a  tyranny  of 
public  opinion  as  blighting  as  that  of  kings.  The  urbane 
conservatism  of  the  New-York  colonists,  and  the  frank 
enthusiasm  of  the  Virginia  cavaliers,  are  at  least  requi- 
site contrasts  in  the  moral  picture.  Yet  the  subject  was 
well  chosen.    It  was  desirable  that  one  of  the  panels 


138 


ARTIST-LIFE. 


should  be  occupied  by  an  illustration  of  our  eastern  his- 
tory, and  its  peculiar  and  memorable  incident  is  the 
landing  of  the  Pilgrims.  They  sought  a  faith's  pure 
shrine,"  we  are  told  by  the  ardent  muse  of  Mrs.  Hemans ; 
and  this  is  the  grand  moral  of  Weir's  picture,  in  the  light 
of  which  it  is  to  be  viewed.  Divorced  from  such  an  idea, 
and  regarded  simply  as  affording  materials  for  pictu- 
resque or  ideal  scope,  the  subject  is  far  from  promising. 
The  truth  is,  (notwithstanding  Milton,)  there  has  never 
been  any  natural  alliance  between  Puritanism  and  po- 
etry. They  are  moral  antipodes.  Catholicism  is  the 
religion  of  Art.  With  all  her  errors,  she  has  ever  met 
the  native  sympathies  of  the  heart,  and  obeyed  the  great 
law  by  which  the  True  is  sought  through  the  Beautiful. 
Puritanism  represents  Christianity  as  an  opinion,  Catho- 
licism as  a  sentiment ;  the  former  addresses  the  intellect^ 
the  latter  the  feelings  and  imagination.  Accordingly, 
there  is  a  certain  barrenness  and  cold  atmosphere  in  Pu- 
ritan history  which  is  the  reverse  of  inspiring  to  the  art- 
ist ;  and  we  trust  it  is  not  violating  the  privacy  of  the 
accomplished  painter  of  "  The  Embarkation  of  the  Pil- 
grims," to  allude  to  the  fact  that  his  researches  incident 
to  the  enterprise,  resulted  in  making  him  an  earnest 
churchman.  For  the  accuracy  and  extent  of  those  re- 
searches. Weir  deserves  more  credit  than  he  has  received. 
He  elaborated  his  design  in  a  conscientious  spirit,  which 
the  most  exacting  member  of  the  group  on  the  "  Speed- 
well's" deck  could  not  fail  to  approve.  Every  face  is 
depicted  according  to  the  most  authentic  hints  which 


WEIR. 


139 


have  come  down  to  us  of  individual  character ;  the  cos- 
tumes and  accessories — such  as  the  screw  and  cradle — 
are  matter-of-fact  copies.    A  descendant  of  the  Pilgrims, 
who  considered  himself  no  tyro  in  the  knowledge  of  New 
England  antiquities,  recently  called  in  question  the  pre- 
sence of  a  prominent  individual  in  the  picture,  and  at- 
tempted to  prove  an  alihi,  citing  historical  evidence  that 
Carver  was  far  from  Delft  Haven  when  the  vessel  sailed  ; 
but  to  his  surprise,  the  artist  met  his  testimony  with  ear- 
lier and  more  authentic  data,  of  the  existence  of  which  he 
was  ignorant.    In  addition  to  his  fidelity  to  history  in 
detail,  a  great  merit  of  the  picture  is  the  felicity  of  its 
grouping.    The  drawing  and  composition   have  been 
warmly  praised  by  the  most  judicious  critics.    The  holy 
representative  of  a  despised  and  persecuted  sect,  kneel- 
ing on  that  crowded  deck  in  prayer,  the  calm  elder,  the 
intelligent  and  honest  ruler,  the  careless  mariner,  the  re- 
solute soldier,  over  whose  rough  shoulder  peers  the  sweet 
features  of  his  fair  wife,  to  soften  and  cheer  the  gravity 
of  the  scene  ;  boyhood  and  age  ;  expressions  of  parting 
sorrow  and  lofty  faith ;  the  lady  of  fashion  and  the  poor 
woman  with  her  sick  child — all  mingle  together  in  effec- 
tive positions ;  and  by  their  eloquent  features  make  the 
spectator  feel  the  self-denial,  the  wounded  affection,  and 
the  solemn  purpose  involved  in  that  high  but  dreary  en- 
terprise.   It  may  be  a  somewhat  humble  epithet,  and  yet, 
considering  the  subject,  not  inapplicable,  to  say  of  this 
work  that  there  is  an  air  of  thorough  respectability  about 
it — by  which  we  mean,  a  most  obvious  good  taste,  and  a 


140 


ARTIST-LIFE. 


wise  avoidance  of  every  thing  fantastic,  extravagant,  and 
incongruous.    Such  we  conceive  is  the  best  spirit  in 
which  such  a  picture  could  be  executed.    It  may  be  ob- 
jected that,  as  a  painting,  viewed  without  reference  to  the 
subject  and  moral  impression,  too  much  of  the  artist's  toil 
has  been  given  to  the  material  details,  and  that  the  tone 
of  the  whole  is  dry  and  cold.    This  latter  objection  seems 
to  us  so  much  in  harmony  with  the  subject  as  to  become 
the  highest  praise.    Would  not  the  rich  draperies  and 
glowing  hues  of  Titian,  the  spirited  figures  of  Salvator, 
or  the  ideal  beauty  of  Raphael  and  Correggio,  be  singu- 
larly out  of  place  here  ?     In  fact,  does  not  this  canvas 
breathe  the  correct  and  firm,  and  at  the  same  time  the 
frigid  spirit  of  the  Puritans '?    If  we  adopt  the  German 
maxim  of  judging  every  work  by  its  own  law,  such  a  re- 
sult must  be  deemed  remarkably  successful.   As  life  pre- 
sented itself  to  the  minds  of  these  men,  and  as  it  still  dis- 
plays itself,  though  modified  by  circumstances,  to  their 
descendants,  so  it  is  portrayed  by  Weir — perhaps  uncon- 
sciously in  a  great  measure,  yet  none  the  less  truly.  As 
the  climate  and  verdure  of  the  New  England  coast  differ 
from  those  of  the  Bay  of  Naples — as  will  differs  from 
sympathy,  opinion  from  sentiment,  mind  from  heart,  cal- 
culation from  impulse,  faith  from  charity,  reason  from 
love,  so  should  the  reflection  of  life,  the  art  of  the  north 
differ  from  that  of  the  south  ;  and  on  this  ground,  how- 
over    The  Embarkation  of  the  Pilgrims  "  may  affect 
the  imagination,  it  cannot  fail  to  gratify  our  sense  of  the 
appropriate. 


WEIR. 


141 


Weir's  isolated  position,  and  the  confinement  for  most 
of  the  year  incident  to  his  office,  have  tended  for  some 
time  past  to  keep  him  from  the  public  eye.  Yet  a  late 
visit  to  his  studio  impressed  us  with  the  conviction  that 
there  are  few  of  our  resident  artists  to  whom  commis- 
sions may  be  more  satisfactorily  given.  He  is  less  in- 
terrupted in  his  vocation,  and  his  attention  less  distracted 
than  is  the  case  with  metropolitan  limners.  His  port- 
folios are  rich  in  promising  designs,  from  which  most 
desirable  selections  for  finished  pictures  may  easily  be 
chosen.  One  in  particular  struck  us  as  most  happily  con- 
ceived. It  represents  our  Saviour  and  the  two  disciples 
in  their  walk  to  Emmaus,  after  the  resurrection,  when 
their  hearts  burned  within  them,  as  he  talked  to  them  by 
the  way.  The  postures  and  drapery  of  the  three  figures 
are  very  fine,  the  atmosphere  oriental,  the  heads  noble 
and  expressive  ;  and,  what  stamps  the  design  with  beau- 
tiful meaning,  there  is  a  most  impressive  contrast  between 
the  lively,  quick,  and  intent  air  of  the  disciples,  and  the 
serene  abstraction  of  Jesus.  This  sketch  would  make 
either  an  interesting  cabinet  or  an  effective  church  pic- 
ture. There  is  a  Flemish  vein  in  Weir,  and  he  has 
remarkable  tact  in  managing  still-life.  "  An  old  philoso- 
pher showing  the  microscope  to  two  boys  "  was  the  sub- 
ject of  a  painting  on  his  easel,  which  evinced  his  ability 
in  this  way  delightfully. 

One  of  the  most  interesting  incidents  in  Weir's  career 
at  home,  was  his  painting  the  venerable  chief  of  the 
Senecas.     A  professional  gentleman,*  whose  patriotic 
*  Dr.  J.  W.  Francis,  of  New- York. 


142 


ARTIST-LIFE. 


sympathies  are  ever  alive  to  the  interests  of  literature 
and  art,  had  been  much  attracted  by  the  expressive 
visage  and  the  extraordinary  cranium  that  rendered  the 
person  of  Red  Jacket  so  eloquent  of  his  history  ;  and  felt, 
both  as  a  philosopher  and  an  American,  how  desirable  it 
was  to  perpetuate  the  lineaments  of  the  old  forest  king. 
Accordingly,  he  ingratiated  himself  by  occasional  gifts 
of  tobacco,  and  when  the  chief's  friendship  was  obtained, 
induced  him  to  sit  to  Weir  for  his  portrait.  Special 
models  of  greater  utility  are  doubtless  obtainable  at  Rome 
and  Florence — a  broader  chest  for  a  Hercules,  a  more 
graceful  contour  for  an  Antinous,  and  a  more  venerable 
head  for  a  Saint  Peter ;  but  no  foreign  academy  could 
furnish  such  a  noble  physique,  associated  with  circum- 
stances and  qualities  of  such  peculiar  interest.  The  last 
of  the  Senecas,  with  characteristic  yet  brave  egotism, 
when  complimented  upon  his  deeds  of  blood,  exclaimed 
— "  A  warrior !  I  was  born  an  orator  !"  When  de- 
nounced in  early  life  by  a  prophet,  he  came  forward  at 
a  great  Indian  council,  and  by  his  powerful  eloquence,  in 
a  speech  of  three  hours,  turned  the  tide  of  popular  feel- 
ing and  triumphed  over  his  enemies.  He  drew  tears 
from  his  audience  on  every  occasion  when  he  depicted 
the  wrongs  of  his  race,  and  was  elected  from  the  mere 
influence  of  his  natural  gifts  chief  of  his  tribe — for,'  ac- 
cording to  our  poet,*  whose  vivid  numbers  will  preserve 
his  mental,  as  our  painter  has  his  bodily  features,  he 
possessed 


*  Halleck. 


WEIR. 


143 


"  The  monarch  mind — the  mystery  of  commanding — 
The  godlike  power — the  art  Napoleon, 
Of  winning,  fettering,  moulding,  wielding,  banding 
The  hearts  of  millions,  till  they  move  like  one." 

He  determined  to  resist  civilization,  in  order  to  maintain 
the  shadow  of  power  and  individuality  that  his  nation 
could  still  boast.  It  was  a  vain  though  an  heroic  at- 
tempt. By  jealously  opposing  the  trading,  missionary, 
and  even  friendly  association  of  the  whites,  by  advocat- 
ing the  rites  and  glory  of  his  people,  and  keeping  fresh 
in  their  memories  the  natural  distinctions  of  the  Indian, 
be  trusted  to  postpone,  if  not  avert,  their  impending 
ruin.  He  is  supposed  to  have  begun  his  career  as  a 
warrior  during  the  revolution.  General  Washington, 
whom  the  chief  used  to  call  "  the  flower  of  the  forest," 
presented  him  with  a  silver  medal,  which  he  never  ceased 
to  wear.  In  1812  he  took  part  in  several  warmly- 
contested  engagements ;  and  after  a  life  of  political  toil 
— savage  though  it  was — venerable  from  years  and  fame, 
the  champion  of  his  waning  tribe  both  in  council  and  in 
arms,  Red  Jacket  visited  the  Atlantic  cities  for  the  last 
time  in  1829,  and  was  the  object  of  general  attention. 
His  bearing  was  still  proud  and  his  step  firm  ;  he  wore 
his  forest  costume,  and  on  all  public  occasions  was  mind- 
ful of  the  dignity  appropriate  to  his  reputation.  He  was 
then  seventy  years  of  age,  and  his  death  soon  after  oc- 
curred at  the  Seneca  village  near  Buffalo.  His  funeral 
was  largely  attended  and  his  deeds  eloquently  rehearsed 
by  his  survivors,  who  then  recalled  with  sadness  his  own 


144 


ARTIST-LIFE 


prophetic  works — "  Who  shall  take  my  place  among  my 
people  ?"  The  sitting  of  Red  Jacket  to  Weir  would 
have  afforded  no  slight  material  for  the  speculative  ob- 
server of  human  nature.  The  savage  monarch,  whose 
piercing  eye  beheld  the  gradual  but  certain  destruction 
of  his  race,  as  it  had  already  that  of  his  immediate  family, 
always  entered  the  artist's  studio  with  his  suite,  dressed 
in  all  the  finery  of  his  office  ;  his  companions,  with  their 
dark  faces  and  unrestrained  air,  threw  themselves  care- 
lessly upon  the  floor,  and  smoked  their  pipes,  while  their 
leader  ever  and  anon  rose  from  his  seat  to  gaze  with  ad- 
miration upon  the  growth  of  the  portrait,  deigning  occa- 
sionally a  word  of  encouragement  to  the  painter.  The 
whole  scene  was  one  of  those  combinations  of  the  ex- 
tremes of  savage  and  civilized  life — of  the  picturesque 
and  the  conventional — of  the  refinement  of  art  and  the 
wildness  of  nature,  only  to  be  encountered  in  this  country. 
And  it  was  but  a  kind  of  poetical  justice  thus  to  snatch 
an  aboriginal  exemplar  from  oblivion,  and  for  bard  and 
limner  to  join  in  enshrining  the  name  of  Red  Jacket  in 
human  remembrance,  as  a  specimen  of  Indian  character, 
one  distinguishing  trait  of  which  he  so  remarkably  exem- 
plified— the  union  of  outward  calmness  and  indifierence 
of  aspect  with  tumultuous  passions  : — 

"  With  look,  like  patient  Job's,  eschewing  evil ; 
With  motions  graceflil  as  a  bird's  in  air. 
Thou  art  in  sober  truth  the  veriest  devil 

That  e'er  clenched  fingers  in  a  captive's  hair. 


W  E  I  R  . 


145 


"  And  underneath  that  face,  like  summer  ocean's, 
Its  lip  as  moveless  and  its  cheek  as  clear. 
Slumbers  a  whirlwind  of  the  heart's  emotions — 
Love,  hatred,  pride,  hope,  sorrow — all  save  fear," 


CHAPMAN. 


There  is  an  old  house  at  Albano,  near  the  lake,  that 
has  been  used  from  time  immemorial  by  artists  who 
frequent  the  vicinity  as  an  inn,  although  it  makes  no  pre- 
tensions to  the  character.  The  successive  families,  or 
rather  generations  of  the  same  family,  who  have  occupied 
the  domicil,  do  their  best  to  make  the  guests  comfortable, 
and  it  is  a  piece  of  traditional  wisdom  to  let  them  have 
their  own  way.  The  freaks,  convivialities,  Indian  talks, 
and  continental  extravaganzas  resulting  from  so  liberal 
a  rule,  may  be  easily  imagined.  Doubtless  if  the  old 
walls  could  speak,  the  tales  they  might  unfold  would 
equal  the  "  Decameron"  in  the  richness  of  their  flavor 
and  "  Boz "  in  humorous  zest.  As  it  is,  they  are  not 
altogether  silent,  being  covered  with  all  kinds  of  sketches, 
impromptu  landscapes,  and  grotesque  portraits — the  hasty 
but  suggestive  autographs  of  the  long  train  of  visitors 
who  have  stolen  thither  from  the  studios  and  galleries  of 
the  Eternal  City,  for  a  month's  villegiatura,  or  a  day's  pic- 
nic. One  fine  spring  afternoon  a  knot  of  these  graphic 
adventurers  were  inspecting  the  several  designs,  with 


CHAPMAN. 


147 


more  curiosity  than  reverence,  when  a  young  American 
of  the  party  drew  the  attention  of  his  companions  to  a 
female  head,  the  exquisite  beauty  of  which  at  once 
changed  their  sportive  comments  to  earnest  admiration. 
The  host  was  summoned,  and  in  answer  to  their  inquiries 
offered  to  show  them  the  original.  With  high- wrought 
expectations  they  followed  him  to  a  neighboring  farm- 
house^  and  beheld  an  infirm,  silver-haired  woman  of 
eighty  or  ninety  propped  up  in  an  arm-chair.  They  look- 
ed at  their  guide  incredulously,  but  all  present  confirmed 
his  assertion.  It  seems  that  sixty  years  before,  a  Ger- 
man youth — one  of  the  most  promising  students  of  the 
Roman  Academy — had  roamed  thither,  like  themselves, 
to  breathe  the  fresh  air  of  the  hills  and  enrich  his  scrap- 
book  with  views  of  the  lake.  The  decrepit  creature  be_ 
fore  them  was  at  that  period  a  beautiful  girl,  the  very  one 
so  sweetly  portrayed  on  the  walls  of  the  venerable  dwell- 
ing they  had  just  left,  of  which  her  father  was  proprietor. 
The  ardent  boy  from  the  Rhine  had  not  finished  his 
sketch  before  he  found  himself  deeply  in  love.  In  a  few 
weeks  he  married  her ;  they  established  themselves  at 
Rome,  and  six  months  after,  he  was  stabbed  one  evening 
near  his  own  door.  The  fair  being  whose  dream  of  hap- 
piness was  thus  horribly  broken,  returned  to  Albano,  and 
never  left  the  farm-house  or  was  seen  to  smile,  from  that 
hour.  Such  is  one  of  the  anecdotes  of  Chapman's  sojourn 
abroad.  It  is  interesting  as  indicative  of  the  romantic 
associations  which  so  often  invest  the  life  of  an  artist,  and 
to  which  their  unconstrained  habits  and  affinity  with  all 


148 


ARTIST-LIFE. 


that  is  picturesque  and  adventurous  are  so  favorable. 
Arrayed  in  the  goatskin  and  untanned  shoes  of  a  peasant, 
Chapman  and  his  comrades  wandered  over  the  greater 
part  of  Calabria.  Every  well-defined  outline  in  the 
mountain  ranges,  each  graceful  shrine,  the  eifective  at- 
titude of  monk  or  vintager,  the  tower  of  the  middle  ages  ; 
the  isolated  cornice  or  pillar,  whose  true  proportions  sur- 
vive the  corrosion  of  time ;  the  vine-laced  terrace  or  the 
rocky  headland,  afforded  an  idea  or  illustrated  an  effect 
which  they  sketched  for  future  use ;  while  cloud  and 
breeze,  storm  and  sunshine  were  ever  around,  inviting 
them  to  study,  in  a  loving  mood,  that  wondrous  and  inex- 
haustible Nature  which  is  the  source  and  inspiration  of 
all  that  is  true  and  lasting  in  the  trophies  of  art.  It  is 
astonishing  how  materials  multiply  to  the  observant  eye ; 
and  the  very  by-ways  furnish  pictures  for  the  artist  and 
lessons  for  the  moralist.  We  remember  one  among  many 
of  Chapman's  memoranda  of  this  pilgrimage,  which  con- 
veys a  sweeter  hint  to  the  imagination  than  half  the  elabo- 
rate compositions  that  crowd  the  canvas.  It  represents 
an  old  man,  in  the  garb  of  a  pilgrim,  asleep  beside  the 
road,  his  head  resting  in  his  daughter's  lap,  who  sits  un- 
der a  tree,  and  as  the  sun  approaches  the  horizon,  shades 
his  beams  with  her  hand  from  the  father's  eyes.  The 
action  is  simple  and  effective,  and  as  thus  caught  by  the 
passing  artist,  makes  as  natural  a  vigil  of  love  as  poet 
or  painter  could  wish. 

De  Tocqueville  observed  that  in  science  Americans 
seek  the  immediate.    The  remark  is  equally  true,  in  no 


CHAPMAN . 


149 


small  degree,  of  art.  Even  ideal  pursuits  are  wrested 
into  the  service  of  utility,  in  a  country  where  the  good  of 
the  greatest  number  is  so  earnestly  proposed.  There  is 
a  tendency  to  make  art  and  literature  subservient  to  tem- 
porary ends,  and  render  them  popular  agents,  which  few 
men  whose  lot  is  cast  in  this  republic  can  resist.  Nor  is 
it  always  desirable  they  should,  for,  although  elaborate 
works  are  not  as  likely  to  be  created,  it  is  no  ignoble 
office  to  take  an  efficient  part,  either  as  a  writer  or  an 
artist,  in  the  education  of  the  people.  In  the  Old  World 
art  is  a  luxury,  but  one  open  to  the  enjoyment  of  all.  It  is 
no  uncommon  thing  to  see  a  beggar  and  a  prince  contem- 
plating the  same  statue  in  the  Vatican,  while  architecture 
and  music  in  their  highest  forms  are  still  more  accessible. 
In  this  country,  where  no  such  facilities  are  enjoyed,  art 
necessarily  takes  a  popular  form,  and  cheap  literature  an- 
swers instead  of  public  libraries.  Necessity,  too,  obliges 
the  artist  and  litterateur  to  consult  the  immediate,  and 
those  who  in  Europe  would  have  been  engaged  for  years 
on  a  philosophical  work  or  an  historical  painting,  become 
in  America  writers  of  newspaper  paragraphs  and  maga- 
zine articles,  and  portrait  painters  or  illustrators  of  annuals. 
Thus,  as  in  many  other  ways,  the  individual  is  sacri- 
ficed to  the  many.  He  seldom  leaves  an  adequate  or 
tangible  monument  of  his  genius  behind  him ;  his  mind 
has  been  diffused  in  its  career  over  a  wide  space,  and  has 
exerted  a  quickening  rather  than  a  permanent  influence ; 
his  labors  have  met  the  exigency  of  the  hour,  and  been 
tributary  to  the  great  stream  of  intellectual  life  that  fer- 


150 


ARTIST-LIFE. 


tilizes  the  broad  arena  of  republican  industry.  The 
energy  of  his  mind,  to  use  an  expression  of  the  author 
before  quoted,  has  been  more  animated  than  dignified 
in  its  development,  and  he  has  been  compelled,  as  it  were, 
to  do  his  fellow-beings  more  justice  than  himself.  How 
far  it  is  well  for  art  thus  to  adapt  herself  to  the  temporary, 
is,  indeed,  a  great  question.  We  know  that  her  loftiest 
results  can  only  be  obtained  through  that  individuality  of 
purpose  and  feeling,  which  is  one  of  the  distinctions  be- 
tween genius  and  talent ;  and  there  are  men  so  endowed 
that,  like  Michael  Angelo  and  Milton,  they  must  be  true  to 
themselves  or  be  guilty  of  apostacy  from  what  is  most 
dear  and  noble  in  humanity.  This,  however,  need  not 
prevent  us  from  regarding  with  complacency  the  labors 
of  those  who  have  made  the  arts  of  design  instruments  of 
common  good,  who  have  disseminated  ideas  of  the  beau- 
tiful, and  illustrated  the  popular  taste. 

This  train  of  reflection  is  very  naturally  suggested 
by  the  name  of  so  popular  an  artist  as  Chapman.  He 
does  not  remember  the  time  when  he  did  not  sketch ;  and 
as  this  native  readiness  continued  to  display  itself,  he 
determined  to  adopt  the  profession  of  a  painter,  and  after 
some  preliminary  study,  went  abroad  to  carry  on  his 
education.  From  the  superior  copies  he  executed  in  Italy 
of  such  pictures  as  Guido's  Aurora"  and  Titian's 
"  Flora,"  it  was  evident  at  once  that  he  had  not  mistaken 
his  vocation.  Many  of  his  subsequent  works  are  distin- 
guished by  felicity  of  design  and  brilliancy  of  coloring. 
They  are  so  various  in  kind,  from  the  simple  rural  to  the 


CHAPMAN. 


151 


elaborate  fancy  composition,  that  it  would  be  difficult  to 
designate  them  under  any  one  term.  The  point,  however, 
mainly  characteristic  of  Chapman  as  an  artist,  is  his  fa- 
cility in  drawing,  and  we  know  of  no  individual  who  so 
rarely  combines  mechanical  ingenuity  with  artistic  taste. 
He  is  familiar  with  all  the  processes  of  the  artisan  as 
well  as  those  of  the  artist ;  now  at  work  on  a  mezzotint 
and  now  on  a  wood-cut ;  to-day  casting  an  iron  medallion 
and  to-morrow  etching  on  steel ;  equally  at  home  at  the 
turning-lathe  and  the  easel,  and  as  able  to  subdue  plaster 
and  bronze,  as  oils  and  crayons,  to  his  uses.    Perhaps  it 
is  from  his  acquaintance  with  so  varied  a  range  of  opera- 
tions that  Chapman  owes  his  intelligent  sympathy  with 
mechanics.    As  a  class  he  thinks  them  the  most  origi- 
nal and  deserving  among  the  people ;  and  when  we  re- 
member how  many  useful  inventions  have  sprung  from 
their  ingenuity  in  America,  and  the  thoroughly  respec- 
table social  position  they  have  acquired,  it  is  singu- 
lar that  their  claims  have  been  so  seldom  recognized. 
Chapman  recently  conceived  a  very  happy  manner  of 
indicating  the  real  importance  of  their  labors  in  a  series 
of  graphic  illustrations  of  Whittier's  "  Songs  of  Labor." 
The  artist  and  poet,  by  mutually  extending  the  design, 
might  readily  execute  a  work  that  would  be  vastly  popu- 
lar and  highly  creditable. 

Color  is  apt  to  fascinate  the  inexperienced  at  the  ex- 
pense of  drawing,  and  few  really  admire  the  cartoons  of 
Raphael  compared  to  the  number  who  are  enchanted  by 
the  splendid  hues  of  the  Venetian  school.    On  this  sub- 


152 


ARTIST-LIFE. 


ject  a  late  writer  justly  observes — "  A  finished  work  of  a 
great  artist  is  only  better  than  its  sketch,  if  the  sources  of 
pleasure  belonging  to  color  and  chiaro  'scuro  are  so  eni- 
ployed  as  to  increase  the  impressiveness  of  the  thought. 
But  if  one  atom  of  thought  has  vanished,  all  color,  all 
finish,  all  execution,  all  ornament,  are  too  dearly  bought." 
Such  is  the  essential  importance  of  drawing,  as  the  al- 
phabet of  expression.  How  desirable  is  a  mastery  over 
such  an  element  of  art !  Without  considering  what  it 
may  be  to  the  artist  as  means  of  pleasure,  as  a  language 
it  is  invaluable.  There  is  reason  for  its  becoming  more 
and  more,  as  is  the  case,  a  branch  of  liberal  culture.  It 
is  true  that  progress  beyond  a  certain  point  in  drawing 
seems  very  dependent  on  organization  ;  and  we  know  of 
no  better  test  whereby  to  decide  between  imitation  and 
originality  of  mind,  than  the  use  made  of  this  vehicle  of 
expression,  when  once  acquired.  But  its  early  and  cor- 
rect acquisition,  the  education  of  the  hand  and  eye,  is 
the  first  step  in  an  artist's  course.  It  is  true  that  when 
this  mastery  is  attained  there  must  be  feeling  and  intelli- 
gence to  inform  it  with  meaning,  otherwise  it  is  of  no 
more  efiiciency  than  skill  in  the  use  of  weapons  to  the 
soldier  who  is  destitute  of  the  valor  to  wield  them  in  battle. 
Yet  the  pencil  is  ever  a  delightful  resource.  How  it 
cheers  the  languid  hours  of  the  invalid,  and  what  a  grace- 
ful pastime  it  afibrds  the  social  circle  !  To  an  imagina- 
tive traveler  it  is  a  means  of  preserving  such  effective 
hints  of  scenes  he  explored  with  enthusiasm,  that  in  after 
years,  his  portfolio  becomes  the  sybilline  leaves  of  memo- 


CHAPMAN. 


153 


ry,  any  one  of  which  excites  far-spreading  and  vivid  as- 
sociations.   Happy  the  art  that  can  thus 

"  Arrest  the  fleeting  images  that  fill 
The  mirror  of  the  mind,  and  hold 
Them  fast." 

Chapman  has  prepared  a  work  designed  to  simplify 
the  teaching  of  drawing.  These  manuals  hitherto  have 
been  written  by  mere  teachers,  whose  interest  rendered  it 
undesirable  to  unfold  very  clearly  all  the  mysteries  of  the 
subject ;  and  treatises  on  perspective,  as  a  general  rule, 
do  not  impart  any  adequate  practical  knowledge.  The 
work  in  question  is  philosophical  in  design,  and  brings 
out  the  whole  subject,  from  its  simplest  to  its  most  com- 
plex relations,  illustrating  the  process  at  every  stage  with 
great  felicity.  It  cannot  fail  to  be  eminently  useful,  and 
will  serve  as  a  standard  authority  in  this  department  of 
education. 

The  studio  of  Chapman  is  very  artist-like.  We  always 
think  of  Jonathan  Oldbuck,  upon  entering  such  an  apart- 
ment, and  feel  vexed  at  the  idea  of  its  elegant  confusion 
being  formalized  by  "  the  womankind."  It  would  be  a 
treat  for  a  rainy  evening,  to  draw  together  the  two  nice 
arm-chairs  before  the  grate,  and  look  over  those  portfolios 
with  the  right  kind  of  companion.  Imagine  the  thing. 
No  sound  but  an  occasional  crackle  of  the  coal  disturbs 
the  quietude.  Above  the  mantelpiece  hangs  a  suit  of 
armor,  perhaps  worn  by  John  de  Medici,  for  Chapman 
bought  it  in  Florence,  and  it  corresponds  with  the  array 

8 


154 


ARTIST-LIFE. 


of  that  dark  chieftain,  as  represented  in  his  portrait. 
Whoever  has  seen  the  picture  will  not  fail  to  remember 
it.  The  face  is  like  Napoleon,  and  along  the  projecting 
points  of  the  steel-clad  figure  glimmers  the  light,  as  it 
does  at  this  moment,  on  the  mail  overhead.  What  asso- 
ciations does  that  one  object  awaken  ! — the  middle  ages, 
with  their  pomp  and  feuds,  chivalric  devotedness,  the 
tournament,  Palestine,  Richard  of  the  Lion-heart,  Ivan- 
hoe,  Sir  Walter,  and  his  hall  at  Abbotsford  !  The  books 
on  the  table  in  the  corner,  look  singularly  inviting  ; — not 
stiffly  ranged  on  shelves,  like  symbols  of  pedantry,  but 
lying  here  and  there,  as  if  waiting  to  be  taken  up. 
There  is  a  deerskin  and  antlers,  to  waken  thoughts  of 
woodland  freedom,  and  blue  lakes ;  and  fine  casts  from 
the  antique,  to  stir  memories  of  the  Vatican.  You 
glance  around  with  a  feeling  of  self-respect,  for  the  em- 
blems of  genius  and  beauty  suggest  thoughts  of  heroism 
and  joy.  With  a  more  noble  interest  you  turn  from  that 
spirited  sketch  in  your  hand.  That  unfinished  little  scene 
on  the  easel,  he  calls  "  On  the  Fence,  or  Town  and  Coun- 
try." A  fair  maiden  is  seated  upon  the  rail ;  on  one  side 
stands  a  rustic  youth,  on  the  other  a  city  loafer.  Their  re- 
spective dogs  are  quite  characteristic.  Which  of  the  suitors 
will  carry  the  day  ?  That  is  the  very  question  in  the  pro- 
cess of  solution.  How  plainly  it  appears  !  Besides  the  ex- 
cellent landscapes,  to  many  of  which  an  historical  interest 
is  attached,  what  a  number  of  admirable  copies  from  va- 
luable originals.  There  is  Rembrandt,  Rubens,  and  Sir 
Joshua  y — and  Columbus,  with  his  white  hair  and  thought- 


CHAPMAN. 


155 


ful  visage,  looking  the  devoted  pilgrim  of  vast  and  unex- 
plored seas, — the  patient  and  lonely  enthusiast.  Well 
contrasted  with  him  are  the  intelligent,  practical  features 
of  old  Peter  Stuyvesant,  more  like  those  of  a  wise  cardi- 
nal than  a  Dutch  Governor. 

Chapman  is  indefatigable ;  early  and  late  he  is  at 
work,  and  seems  to  overcome  fatigue  rather  by  changing 
his  occupation  than  abstaining  from  labor.  The  book- 
sellers constantly  employ  him  in  illustrating  Bibles,  histo- 
ries, poems,  and  even  grammars.  At  intervals,  he 
makes  ingenious  toys  for  his  children,  attends  a  club- 
meeting,  or  goes  up  the  Hudson  to  rusticate  and  fish. 
Like  most  artists  of  ready  talent,  he  has  an  eye  for  the 
humorous.  One  hot  August  day  a  party  of  his  friends, 
including  several  ladies,  made  an  excursion  on  the  Poto- 
mac, from  which,  through  accident  or  wisdom,  he  chose 
to  abstain.  When  they  reached  the  middle  of  the  river, 
their  boat  was  stranded  by  the  falling  tide,  and  left  high 
— but  not  dry — on  an  extensive  mud-flat,  of  such  a  con- 
sistency that  to  tread  upon  it  was  to  risk  suffocation. 
The  hapless  passengers  had  no  alternative  but  to  remain 
exposed  to  the  intense  heat  of  a  Virginia  sun,  without 
refreshment  or  shelter  of  any  kind,  and  devoured  by 
musketoes,  until  evening,  when  the  rising  water  enabled 
them  to  land.  Chapman  stood  comfortably  on  the  um- 
brageous banks  of  the  river,  and  made  such  an  admirable 
sketch  of  the  affair,  that  the  "party  of  pleasure"  found 
when  they  came  on  shore  that  their  awkward  mishap 
was  not  likely  soon  to  be  forgotten. 


156 


ARTIST-LIFE. 


We  have  alluded  to  the  utility,  in  such  a  coun- 
try as  our  own,  of  diversified  labors  like  those  which, 
for  the  most  part,  employ  this  artist.  It  is  to  be 
regretted  that  others  reap  so  unfair  a  proportion  of 
the  gains  incident  to  such  industry.  In  many  cases, 
works  that  owe  their  circulation  almost  entirely  to  the 
illustrations,  have  brought  great  returns  to  the  publishers, 
who  have  allowed  the  merest  stipend  to  the  artist.  In 
such  cases  the  latter  is  justly  entitled  to  a  copyright  re- 
muneration. A  single  instance  of  the  manner  in  which 
a  popular  design  may  be  appropriated,  occurs  in  regard 
to  that  of  the  "  Landing  of  Columbus,"  by  Chapman.  It 
was  originally  sketched  for  a  drop-curtain,  and  then  fur- 
nished as  a  vignette  for  a  newspaper  for  sixty-five  dol- 
lars. In  a  few  months  it  was  reproduced  in  a  London 
work,  on  bandboxes  in  the  Bowery,  in  a  tableau  at  the 
Olympic,  and  as  a  heading  to  the  diplomas  of  the  Madrid 
Historical  Society. 


EDMONDS. 


An  ingenious  British  writer  calls  the  spirit  of  trade 
the  Capua  of  the  fine  arts,  intimating  that  the  very  luxury 
incident  to  commercial  prosperity,  by  enervating  the  mind, 
limits  and  degrades  its  better  instincts.  This  view  is, 
however,  more  applicable  to  the  author's  own  country 
than  to  general  fact.  The  Flemish  painters  have  thrown 
a  spell  of  beauty  around  the  thriving  cities  which  mer- 
cantile enterprise  reared,  and  the  memorable  epochs  of 
Italian  art  gave  birth  also  to  her  merchant  princes.  In- 
stead of  regarding  the  spirit  of  trade  and  the  cause  of  art 
as  altogether  inimical — which  in  some  respects  they  doubt- 
less are — it  is  the  part  of  wisdom  to  endeavor  to  render 
them  mutually  serviceable.  Art  gives  intellectual,  and 
benevolence  moral  dignity  to  the  possession  of  wealth ; 
and  as  civilization  advances,  the  well-being  of  every  na- 
tion is  more  and  more  symbolized  in  the  refinements  of 
its  architecture,  painting  and  statuary.  One  of  our  tra- 
veling countrymen  quaintly  observes,  that  between  a  shot- 
tower  and  a  cathedral  spire  there  is  the  same  difference 
as  between  the  society  of  a  ponderous  bore  and  a  buoyant 


158 


ARTIST-LIFE. 


poet.  As  communities  feel  truths  like  this,  they  gener- 
ally blend  taste  and  industry,  and  turn  from  plodding 
routine  to  the  amenities  of  horticulture,  letters,  or  the 
arts.  Such  a  process  is  visibly  going  on  in  this  coun- 
try. The  enthusiasm  for  music,  the  increased  sale  of 
poetical  works,  the  tone  of  newspaper  criticism,  and  so- 
cial intercourse,  all  evince  this  transition  state  ;  and  it  is 
daily  becoming  more  common  for  the  devotees  of  gain  to 
lay  their  offerings  upon  the  shrines  of  knowledge  and  of 
taste. 

We  have  some  remarkable  instances  of  the  successful 
prosecution  of  objects  usually  deemed  incompatible  with 
each  other.  Indeed,  versatility  of  occupations  is  one  of 
our  national  characteristics.  Trades  are  often  hereditary 
in  Europe,  and  it  is  comparatively  seldom  that  any  one 
exceeds  or  diversifies  his  vocation  ;  but  the  exigencies  of 
life  here,  and  the  varied  spheres  in  which  the  citizen  is 
obliged  to  act,  give  more  flexibility  to  his  mind,  and  per- 
haps in  no  country  are  there  so  many  surprising  changes 
of  employment  and  such  ready  adaptation  of  talent  to  cir- 
cumstances. Mr.  Edmonds  is  a  rare  example  of  this  in- 
defatigable spirit,  whereby  necessity  and  inclination  are 
reconciled,  and  the  barrenness  of  toilsome  detail  redeemed 
by  a  liberal  pursuit.  As  a  man  of  business,  his  accuracy, 
faithfulness,  and  attention  are  proverbial  among  those  who 
know  him  in  this  relation  ;  and  his  services  are  constantly 
in  demand  by  associations  and  individuals  when  any  res- 
pite occurs  in  his  duties  as  cashier  of  the  Mechanics'  Bank. 
At  the  National  Academy,  as  well  as  in  Wall-street,  Mr. 


EDMONDS. 


159 


Edmonds  is  cordially  recognized,  and  has  proved  himself 
so  adequate  in  these  apparently  opposite  spheres,  that  the 
most  exclusive  votaries  both  of  Mammon  and  of  Art  never 
question  his  fealty.  So  jealous  was  the  painter,  however, 
of  his  reputation  among  the  "  hard-eyed  lenders  and  the 
pale  lendees,^'  that  it  was  only  by  judicious  degrees  that 
he  permitted  his  friends  to  know  that  he  was  addicted  to 
the  pencil.  His  studio  was  for  a  long  time  as  impenetra- 
ble as  the  laboratory  of  an  alchemist,  and  his  pictures 
were  exhibited  under  a  fictitious  name.  We  may  imagine 
his  amusement  at  the  conjectures  of  the  critics,  and  his 
vexation,  on  one  occasion,  at  discovering  that  the  address 
he  had  ventured  to  send,  in  order  to  secure  the  return  of 
his  works,  proved  to  be  a  vacant  lot,  so  that  the  paintings 
were  left  at  a  corner  grocery  !  Quite  early  in  life  he 
had  evinced  a  fondness  for  drawing,  and  books  relating 
to  art  were  among  the  first  that  seriously  interested  him. 
He  also  found  peculiar  satisfaction  in  the  society  of  art- 
ists ;  but  while  quite  a  lad  his  career  as  a  business  man 
had  begun,  and  he  had  the  sound  judgment  to  regulate 
the  gratification  of  his  taste  in  accordance  with  more  im- 
perious claims.  This  was  comparatively  easy,  since  his 
cast  of  mind  is  judicious  and  systematic  rather  than  sen- 
sitive, and  his  aim  in  painting,  the  graphic  and  humorous. 
This  tendency  led  him  to  illustrate  scenes  from  Smollet 
and  Scott,  and  give  shape  to  many  of  the  every-day  pha- 
ses of  life.  The  "Epicure,^'  and  the  "  Comforts  of  Old 
Age,"  were  among  the  subjects  which  at  the  outset  he 
successfully  treated.      The  Penny  Paper may  be  con- 


160 


ARTIST-LIPE. 


sidered  among  his  best  efforts.  It  cost  no  little  study. 
Almost  every  object  delineated,  even  to  the  old  shoe  that 
hangs  upon  the  wall,  is  a  legitimate  imitation.  "  Spark- 
ing "  is  a  familiar  and  very  popular  instance  of  Edmonds' 
talent,  having  been  engraved  by  the  Art-Union.  When 
proposed  as  an  associate  of  the  N.  Y.  Academy,  the  ques- 
tion arose  whether  he  was  an  artist  or  an  amateur,  and 
the  fact  of  his  having  sold  the  fruits  of  his  pencil  decided 
his  professional  claims,  and  secured  his  election.  His 
health  having  become  impaired  from  too  constant  appli- 
cation, he  sailed  for  Europe  in  the  winter  of  1840.  Be- 
fore this  period,  it  had  been  his  custom  to  be  at  his  easel 
from  sunrise  until  bank  hours,  and  from  three  in  the  af- 
ternoon until  dark ;  nor  is  it  surprising  that  such  assiduity 
should  have  worn  upon  the  springs  of  health.  Indeed,  to 
severe  and  constant  labor  may  be  ascribed  all  that  this 
skillful  painter  has  effected.  He  owes  little  to  chance  or 
intuition.  He  has  not  that  kind  of  ability  which  seizes 
quickly  on  results,  but  achieves  his  ends  wholly  through 
methodical  industry,  a  principle  as  effective  in  art  as 
finance.  Abroad,  Mr.  Edmonds  visited  and  carefully  ob- 
served the  principal  collections.  He  fell  in  with  several 
countrymen  attached  to  the  same  pursuits,  and  among 
the  delightful  episodes  of  his  tour,  remembers  with  pecu- 
liar and  vivid  satisfaction  a  sketching  excursion  made 
with  a  party  of  artists,  among  whom  was  Durand,  to 
Amalfi,  Capri,  and  Salerno.  Since  his  return,  he  has  ex- 
hibited among  others,  "  The  Bashful  Cousin,"  "  Boy 
Stealing  Milk,"     The  Beggar's  Petition,"  "  The  New 


EDMONDS. 


161 


Scholar,"  and  Facing  the  Enemy  " — a  capital  illustra- 
tion of  the  temperance  reform.  His  business  talents  have 
also  been  successfully  enlisted  in  behalf  of  the  Art-Union, 
originally  called  the  Apollo — an  institution  at  one  time  on 
the  decline,  but  now,  through  the  exertions  of  Mr.  Ed- 
monds and  his  coadjutors,  in  the  full  tide  of  usefulness. 

This  brief  statement  is  an  encouraging  proof  of  what 
may  be  accomplished  by  one  who  really  loves  a  tasteful 
object,  even  in  the  face  of  that  eager  devotion  to  mere 
physical  good  with  which  our  nation  is  reproached.  More 
than  one  of  our  poets  have  exemplified  the  same  truth  in 
regard  to  literature,  and  a  few  more  instances  of  the  same 
kind,  will  do  more  than  a  volume  of  reasoning  to  quell  the 
absurd  prejudice  which  holds  it  impossible  for  a  man  to 
play  the  flute,  turn  a  stanza,  or  execute  a  picture,  and,  at 
the  same  time,  be  dexterous  and  thrifty  in  affairs.  Thus 
the  war  between  utility  and  beauty,  the  ideal  and  the 
practical,  will  gradually  subside.  It  will  at  length  be 
acknowledged  that  the  human  mind  is  capable  of  a  two- 
fold coincident  development,  and  that  prudence  and  im- 
agination may  amicably  unfold  together.  Thus  the  arid 
face  of  society  will  be  fertilized,  and  an  element  of  cheer- 
fulness and  grace  be  woven  into  the  web  of  existence  to 
redeem  and  brighten  its  monotonous  hues.  Similar  causes 
for  a  long  time  opposed  the  progress  of  artistic  culture  in 
England.  Half  a  century  ago,  an  able  advocate  *  of  the 
fine  arts  there,  deemed  it  necessary  to  plead  the  argu- 


*  Prince  Hoare. 
8* 


162 


ARTIST- LIFE. 


ment  of  utility,  and  point  out  the  influence  of  design  upon 
manufactures,  tracing  the  effect  of  high  art  in  the  beauti- 
ful models  of  Wedgewood,  and  the  patterns  of  stuffs,  fur- 
niture, tapestry,  and  china,  thereby  bringing  home  to  the 
plain  common  sense  of  the  Saxon  mind,  that  important 
series  of  causes  and  effects  by  which  a  principle  of  truth 
or  beauty  infuses  itself  through  the  whole  range  of  social 
wants,  from  the  highest  demand  of  imagination  to  the 
most  common  of  domestic  necessities.  There  is,  it  has 
been  truly  said,  an  affinity  between  all  works  that  are 
beneficial  to  mankind.  The  diamond  and  charcoal  have 
been  proved  by  science  to  be  identical ;  and  much  of 
what  is  apparently  incompatible  in  human  pursuits,  arises 
from  the  limited  view  in  which  they  are  regarded,  or  the 
narrowness  of  spirit  and  want  of  character  with  which 
they  are  followed. 


FREEMAN. 


It  is  generally  conceded  that  Raphael  sought  the  tri- 
umph of  his  art  in  expression,  Corregio  in  the  effects  of 
light  and  shade,  and  Titian  in  color — not  that  these  were 
the  exclusive  objects  of  each,  or  constitute  their  only  title 
to  fame,  but  that  they  severally  pursued  truth  with  pe- 
culiar relish  and  success  through  these  different  means. 
If  we  admit  these  distinctions,  it  is  easy  to  account  for 
the  superior  rank  claimed  for  Raphael,  since  there 
can  be  no  question  that  to  produce  the  greatest  effects  in 
art  chiefly  by  means  of  expression,  is  to  achieve  the 
highest  victory.  There  is  more  orless  of  illusion  in  every 
other  process,  and  a  reliance  upon  ingenuity  rather  than 
genius.  The  same  is  true  in  literature,  whose  most  en- 
•.%during  monuments  owe  their  vitality  to  the  richness  of 
the  thought  or  image,  and  not  to  the  perfection  of  the 
style.  Racine's  dramas  boast  a  more  sustained  unity 
and  elegance  than  Shakspeare's,  and  yet  have  no  hold 
upon  the  permanent  interests  of  men.  Expression  is  the 
very  soul  of  Art.  It  consists  in  seizing  upon  the  most 
subtle  of  nature's  phases  and  fixing  it  in  marble  or  upon 
canvas — even  as  the  great  dramatist  has  stamped  certain 


164 


ARTIST-LIFE. 


traits  of  humanity  upon  his  page  for  ever.  The  senti- 
ment of  devotion  as  it  beams  in  the  upturned  face  of  St. 
Cecilia,  or  the  holiness  of  maternity  as  it  rests  on  the  lips 
and  in  the  eyes  of  the  Madonna  della  Sedula,  are  in  like 
manner,  represented  with  an  integrity  that  endears  them 
to  all  the  world.  It  is,  therefore,  an  evidence  of  loftier 
intelligence  in  an  artist  to  aim  principally  at  expres- 
sion. Unfortunately,  many  artists  lack  self-knowledge 
as  to  their  appropriate  sphere  of  expression.  This 
was  a  great  fault  in  West.  He  habitually  selected  the 
grandest  and  most  sacred  themes,  and  brought  to  their 
illustration,  skill  in  drapery,  grouping,  and  mechanical 
detail,  without  any  commensurate  reach  of  mind  and 
sympathy  in  the  subject.  It  is  no  small  part  of  wisdom 
to  understand  one's  province  of  action.  The  example  of 
the  old  masters  is  too  much  followed  in  the  choice  of  sub- 
jects. Perhaps  the  rarest  of  all  adaptation  is  that  for 
religious  art,  and  not  a  few  failures  are  to  be  ascribed  to 
a  want  of  courage  in  following  out  individual  tendencies. 
It  is  equally  meritorious,  in  the  abstract,  to  make  a  good 
picture  of  a  peasant  as  of  a  saint,  the  important  point 
being  intrinsic  excellence.  An  artist's  subject  should 
spring  from  his  natural  powers,  and  not  from  external 
dictation.  He  certainly  cannot  deal  successfully  with 
expression,  unless  at  home  with  the  idea  or  feeling  to  be 
expressed ;  and  this  depends  more  upon  character  than 
imitation. 

Amomg  those  of  our  artists  who  have  decided  genius 
for  expression  is  Freeman.    At  a  very  early  age  he  was 


FREEMAN. 


165 


brought  by  his  parents  from  Nova  Scotia  to  Otsego. 
Through  many  difficulties,  and  hardships,  he  made  his 
way  to  New- York  to  gain  instruction  in  the  art  he  loved  ; 
entered  as  a  student  the  National  Academy,  and  soon 
gained  the  honor  of  membership.  Inman,  whose  appre- 
ciation of  dawning  merit  was  as  quick  as  his  expression 
of  it  was  frank  and  ardent,  was  among  the  first  to  ac- 
knowledge the  youth's  promise.  He  was  attracted  by 
the  head  of  an  old  revolutionary  soldier  whom  Freeman 
had  hired  as  a  model,  and  declared  he  should  be  proud  to 
have  painted  it.  In  Cooper's  novel  of  the  Pioneers,  there 
is  a  graphic  description  of  the  family  mansion  of  the  au- 
thor's progenitors,  in  the  western  part  of  this  state. 
Freeman  occupied  as  a  studio  the  identical  building  for 
more  than  one  winter.  He,  however,  has  resided  for 
some  years  past  in  Italy,  and  there  studied  his  profession 
with  a  devotion  and  independence  rarely  equaled.  Of 
this,  adequate  proof  may  be  drawn  from  his  conversa- 
tion. He  may  have  prejudices,  but  he  also  has  arrived 
by  observation  and  thought  to  the  dignity  of  opinions. 
Perhaps  his  tastes  are  too  exclusive  to  be  generally  fol- 
lowed, but  they  are  based  upon  no  temporary  arguments 
or  limited  experience.  His  standard  is  exacting,  and  his 
philosophy  just.  The  principles  upon  which  he  views 
art  and  endeavors  to  win  her  laurels,  are  of  a  character 
to  obtain  the  respect  of  those  who  regard  the  subject  from 
an  intelligent  point  of  view.  None  of  our  young  artists 
are  better  informed  as  to  the  essential  grounds  of  their 
profession,  and  few  of  them  have  such  authority  for  their 


166 


ARTIST-LIFE. 


pursuit.  We  can  say  of  Freeman  with  perfect  confi- 
dence— what  cannot  by  any  means  be  declared  of  the 
majority  who  paint  and  model — that  he  is  an  artist  both 
from  education  and  native  endowments.  With  this  con- 
viction we  parted  from  him,  on  his  recent  departure  for 
Rome,  with  sincere  regret,  and  a  renewed  belief  that 
what  is  called  success,  both  in  art  and  literature,  in  this 
country,  has  little  necessary  connection  with  merit.  A 
shrewd  copyist  or  mechanical  draughtsman,  who  knows 
how  to 

"  Crook  the  pregnant  hinges  of  the  knee 
That  thrift  may  follow  fawning 

who  can  stoop  to  court  the  wealthy  and  ignorant  visitors 
of  the  "  city  of  the  soul,"  may  obtain  commissions  to  his 
heart's  content ;  but  the  man  of  genius,  whose  very  na- 
ture unfits  him  for  resorting  to  any  extraneous  measures 
to  secure  patronage,  who  relies  simply  on  his  art,  and  the 
appreciation  of  his  countrymen  ; — waiting,  as  it  becomes 
him,  to  be  recognized,  and  scorning  the  appliances  of  the 
charlatan,  is  likely  to  starve  by  neglect.  His  fame  is 
apt  to  be  altogether  posthumous ;  late  honors  are  yielded 
in  the  place  of  that  living  sympathy  for  which  he  pined ; 
and,  instead  of  the  gratifying  spectacle  of  his  actual  and 
conscious  prosperity,  we  are  too  often  directed  to  his 
monument,  and  obliged  to  confess  that  he  asked  for  bread 
and  received  a  stone. 

Before  Freeman  went  abroad,  he  painted  an  Indian 
girl  of  rare  beauty.    The  picture  was  greatly  admired 


FREEMAN. 


167 


and  is  highly  prized  by  its  owner.  There  is  something 
in  the  manner  and  execution  of  the  portrait  quite  unique. 
It  is  the  best  representation  of  an  aboriginal  female  we 
have  ever  seen.  To  a  European  collector  it  would  be 
invaluable,  and  no  one  with  a  particle  of  imagination 
can  look  upon  it  without  interest.  The  peculiar  com- 
plexion, and  a  certain  blending  of  tenderness  and  fire  in 
the  countenance — to  say  nothing  of  the  flowing  hair — 
convey  at  once  a  romantic  impression.  The  rich  arterial 
blood  seems  to  glow  through  the  olive  skin  with  a  truth- 
ful vitality,  and  the  dark  eyes  and  expressive  lips  whisper 
some  hidden  and  winsome  revelation.  Nor  is  this  sur- 
mise erroneous.  The  girl  was  a  celebrated  beauty,  and 
a  story  of  no  ordinary  romance  belongs  to  her  name.  It 
is  very  seldom  that  a  portrait  combines  so  many  associa- 
tions, and  though  among  the  earliest  of  the  artist's  pro- 
•ductions,  it  is  one  at  which  he  evidently  wrought  with 
earnestness  and  consequent  success. 

The  picture  by  which  Freeman  is  best  known  is 
"  The  Beggars."  It  was  the  gem  of  the  exhibition,  a 
few  years  since.  The  composition  is  simple  but  re- 
markably felicitous,  consisting  of  one  erect  and  one 
sleeping  figure  ;  but  the  attitudes,  the  atmosphere,  the 
execution,  the  finish,  and,  above  all,  the  expression,  are 
in  the  highest  degree  artistic  and  suggestive.  We  doubt 
if  any  one  who  has  never  visited  the  south  of  Europe 
could  thoroughly  estimate  the  work,  as  a  delineation  of 
nature.  To  such  as  are  familiar  with  those  regions,  it  is 
singularly  eloquent.    The  pleading,  datemi-qualcjiecosa 


168 


ARTIST-LIFE. 


look  of  the  standing  boy,  is  more  significant  than  the 
rags  in  which  he  is  clothed,  and  the  bare  extended  arm. 
The  face  of  the  sleeper  is  calm — a  beggar  in  attire,  but 
a  happy  child  in  reality — happy  in  the  noonday  repose 
of  that  soft  clime,  the  eager  lines  of  importunity  and 
want  softened  by  the  careless  spirit,  as 

"  Folded  alike  from  sunshine  and  fi-om  rain, 
As  if  a  rose  should  shut,  and  be  a  bud  again." 

This  picture  is  an  epitome  of  Italy,  of  her  poverty  and 
her  clime — her  balmy  nature  and  her  degraded  humanity 
— her  urbane  spirit  and  narrow  destiny.  It  carries  one 
at  once  to  the  Piazza  d'Espagna  steps  and  the  Colliseum. 
Its  elaborate,  highly-finished,  and  thorough  execution  is 
worthy  of  a  master.  There  is  a  fine  relievo  effect  in 
the  countenances,  that  makes  them  seem  palpable.  In 
this,  as  in  other  of  Freeman's  works,  we  are  struck  with 
the  amount  of  study  it  will  bear.  There  is  nothing 
evasive  or  tame,  but  all  is  well  thought  and  worked  out. 
We  feel  that  it  was  made  to  last  and  to  contemplate,  to 
impart  ideas,  waken  the  fancy,  and  yield  permanent 
satisfaction.  This  artist  paints  like  a  man  who  has 
breathed  a  calmer  air  than  our  own,  and  grown  familiar 
with  labors  that  cost  years  of  toil.  There  are  few  marks 
of  haste,  of  that  compromising  spirit,  so  fatal  to  the  en- 
during value  of  a  work  of  art,  which  renders  abortive 
some  of  the  best  conceptions  of  our  artists.  Freeman 
has  never  ceased  to  be  a  student.  There  is  an  intensity 
in  his  aims  and  habits ;  he  has  more  vigor  than  delicacy. 


FREEMAN. 


169 


He  appears  to  understand  clearly  his  object  and  to  pur- 
sue it  without  diversion.  Every  one  of  his  pictures  we 
have  seen,  remains  in  our  memory — a  distinct  creation. 
They  satisfy  instead  of  perplexing  us.  Two  executed 
during  the  last  winter  displayed  the  same  characteris- 
tics. One  was  a  child,  whose  sun-burnt  face  and  elfin 
locks  furnished  an  excellent  basis  for  a  rural  witch. 
But  Freeman  portrayed  her  with  such  a  look  of  weird 
intelligence  and  laughing  wickedness,  that  it  was  the 
very  personification  of  a  gipsy.  The  expression  was  so 
keen,  vivid,  and  real,  that  it  haunted  one — so  that  the  ac- 
cessories of  a  ruined  tomb,  poisonous  herbs,  and  mould- 
ering bones  were  unnecessary,  though  appropriate.  Of 
quite  a  different  expression  was  "  The  Bad  Shoe  " — a 
little  fellow  seated  in  a  barn  window,  amid  a  wintry 
landscape,  and  holding  his  frost-nipt  foot  pitifully  in  his 
hand,  his  chubby  face  full  of  that  pathos  born  of  early 
suffering — which  Dickens  has  so  effectively  described. 
Both  of  these  are  genuine  touches  of  nature,  caught  by 
the  eye  and  transfixed  by  the  hand  of  the  artist — in  no 
careless  or  accidental  manner,  but  with  just  and  effective 
labor.  "  The  Crusader's  Return  "  is  a  cabinet  picture, 
of  the  coldest  hue,  representing  a  knight  with  pallid 
brow  and  auburn  beard,  kneeling  in  prayer  over  the 
marble  effigy  of  his  betrothed.  The  armor  is  finely  exe- 
cuted, and  all  the  parts  highly  finished.  It  is  evidently 
one  of  those  experiments  to  which  genius  is  prone,  and 
intimates  no  ordinary  skill,  were  ample  scope  afforded 


170 


ARTIST-LIFE. 


for  its  deliberate  unfolding.  Freeman's  drawings  from 
models  and  sketches  from  nature,  evidence  long  and  va- 
rious study,  and  manifest  how  much  the  genuine  love  of 
art,  and  patient  investigation  of  its  principles,  have  occu- 
pied his  thoughts  and  feelings. 


LEUTZE. 


In  the  summer  of  1837,  a  young  though  baffled  en- 
thusiast was  roaming  amid  the  picturesque  scenery  of 
Virginia.  He  had  gone  thither  from  the  capital,  where 
an  enterprise  which  seemed  to  offer  at  least  the  means  of 
immediate  subsistence,  if  not  the  promise  of  future  dis- 
tinction, had  failed.  He  was  the  son  of  an  honest,  but 
stern  mechanic,  born  in  a  small  town  of  southern  Ger- 
many. At  a  very  early  age,  the  political  discontent  of 
his  father  induced  the  removal  of  his  family  to  the  United 
States,  and  Philadelphia  became  their  home.  The  ima- 
gination of  the  youth  was  already  tinged  with  the  ro- 
mantic legends  of  his  fatherland  and  he  brought  to  the 
new  world  a  dreamy  habit  of  mind,  and  many  vague  but 
ardent  fancies,  that  gradually  shaped  themselves  into 
longings  for  the  unattained,  and  visions  of  renown.  A 
boyhood  of  comparative  seclusion  and  desultory  reading, 
fostered  these  poetical  tendencies  ;  and  the  most  common- 
place objects  were  grouped  and  colored  in  his  reveries, 
according  to  ideal  suggestions.    From  this  state  of  mind 


172 


ARTIST- LIFE. 


he  was  painfully  awakened  by  the  claims  of  filial  duty, 
and  the  reflections  which  occupied  the  long  vigils  by  his 
father's  death-bed,  led  him  to  resolve  upon  the  profession 
of  an  artist,  as  that  for  which  by  nature  and  inclination 
he  was  best  adapted.  His  early  attempts  were  rude  por- 
traits, which  succeeded  only  on  account  of  their  obvious 
resemblance  to  the  originals,  although  in  one  instance 
the  head  of  a  bull-dog  was  considered  a  far  better  like- 
ness than  that  of  his  master.  At  length,  with  the  avidity 
natural  to  the  occasion,  he  set  about,  for  the  first  time 
what  he  deemed  worthy  to  be  called  a  picture.  It  was 
based  upon  the  memory  of  a  colored  print  after  Westall. 
Too  impatient  to  wait  for  the  colors  to  dry  before  giving 
the  final  touches,  the  young  artist  place'd  it  near  the  fire 
and  went  out,  anticipating  the  surprise  of  the  friends  he 
intended  to  summon,  when  his  work  was  completed  ; — on 
his  return  it  was  burned  to  a  blister.  The  misfoilune 
was  not,  however,  without  its  consolations,  for,  though 
obscured,  it  was  not  annihilated — indeed,  the  fire  had 
produced  something  of  the  effect  for  which  many  paint- 
ings are  indebted  to  time,  and  his  critics  found  no  diffi- 
culty in  recognizing  many  obscure,  but  undoubted  evi- 
dences of  rich  promise  :  they  encouraged  the  youth,  'but 
it  was  years  before  he  ventured  upon  a  similar  experi- 
ment. On  the  contrary,  he  wisely  turned  his  attention, 
with  zeal,  to  the  rudiments  of  his  art,  and  made  great 
progress  under  the  instruction  of  a  drawing-master  of 
acknowledged  merit.  The  result  was,  that  his  next  por- 
traits, when  exhibited  by  the  Artists'  Fund  Society,  won 


L  EU  T  ZE  . 


173 


encomiums  from  competent  judges,  and  led  a  publisher 
to  engage  him  to  paint  the  heads  of  our  leading  states- 
men, to  be  engraved  for  a  national  work.  It  was  in  the 
prosecution  of  this  design  that  he  visited  Washington. 
Our  busy  politicians  could  not  at  that  period  afford  the 
time  to  give  the  artist  the  requisite  sittings.  His  wants 
were  pressing,  and  his  experience  limited ;  it  is  not, 
therefore,  to  be  wondered  at,  that,  after  a  few  months,  he 
abandoned  the  project,  and  went  into  Virginia,  to  soothe 
his  disappointed  feelings  by  communion  with  nature  and 
reviving  the  dreams  of  his  boyhood.  These  musings 
were,  however,  no  longer  wholly  pleasurable.  He  had 
been  brought  into  contact  with  reality,  thrown  suddenly 
upon  his  own  resources,  and  obliged  to  compare  experi- 
mentally the  ideal  and  the  actual.  In  addition  to  a  bitter 
sense  of  the  hard  laws  of  necessity — a  lesson  that  the 
world  had  taught  him — he  was  now,  in  the  very  bosom 
of  that  Nature  to  which  he  had  fled  as  to  a  mother's  arms, 
made  keenly  to  realize  how  inadequate  is  Art,  even  when 
a  mastery  is  obtained  over  her  mechanical  principles,  to 
express  what  filled  his  imagination  and  glowed  in  his 
heart.  Thus  the  avenues  of  life  seemed  closed  to  him, 
both  in  its  practical  and  its  poetical  development.  In  an 
aim,  directed  by  regard  to  the  wants  of  the  time  and  peo- 
ple, and  having  subsistence  chiefly  for  its  object,  he  had 
been  quite  unsuccessful ;  and  when  he  sought  for  relief 
in  achievements  born  of  individual  genius  and  enthusi- 
asm, an  almost  fatal  self-distrust  palsied  his  will.  To 
all  intelligent  and  sensitive  minds  this  epoch  of  existence 


174 


ARTIST-LI  FE. 


is  well  known.  To  all  such  it  must  inevitably  occur. 
It  was  a  kind  of  "  temptation  in  the  desert"  to  our  youth- 
ful painter.  He  desponded,  but  he  was  too  heroic  wholly 
to  despair.  A  gentleman,  whose  rich  domain  he  chanced 
to  approach  in  his  wayward  rovings,  perceived  his  abil- 
ity, understood  his  unhappiness,  and  aroused  him  from 
inaction  by  a  call  upon  his  professional  skill.  The  artist 
obeyed,  but  he  could  not  subdue  the  mood  which  pos- 
sessed him.  No  brilliant  scene  arose  to  his  fancy,  no 
humorous  incident  took  form  and  color  from  his  pencil, 
and  the  fair  landscape  around  appeared  to  mock  rather 
than  cheer  his  destiny.  He  could  not  bring  himself  into 
relation  with  subjects  thus  breathing  of  hope  and  gayety, 
but  found  inspiration  only  in  the  records  of  human  sorrow. 
As  the  royal  mourner  bade  her  companions  "  sit  upon 
the  ground  and  tell  sad  stories  of  the  death  of  kings,"  the 
pensive  artist  found  something  analogous  to  his  own  fate 
in  the  story  of  Hagar  and  Ishmael.  He  painted  them  as 
having  followed  up  a  spent  water-course,  in  hopes  of  find- 
ing wherewith  to  quench  their  thirst,  and  sinking  under 
the  disappointment.  He  neither  saw  nor  painted  the 
angel  of  God  who  showed  the  fountain  in  the  wilderness  ; 
and  yet  the  angel  was  there,  for  now  the  sufferer  ac- 
knowledges that  early  vicissitude  nerved  him  for  high 
endeavor,  rendered  his  vision  piercing,  his  patience 
strong,  and  his  confidence  firm  ;  and  that  this  incidental 
effort  to  triumph  over  difficulties,  was  the  first  of  a  series 
which  have  made  his  subsequent  career  progressive  and 
happy. 


LEUTZE . 


175 


The  subject  of  Leutze's  next  picture  was  an  Indian 
contemplating  the  setting  sun.  It  gained  for  him,  besides 
general  praise,  the  permanent  friendship  of  one  whose 
kind  interest  manifested  itself  until  his  death,  and  through 
whose  influence  the  artist  received  an  amount  of  commis- 
sions sufficient  to  justify  his  embarkation  for  Europe. 
After  a  trying  voyage,  he  arrived  in  Amsterdam  in  Jan- 
uary, 1841,  and  having  viewed  the  principal  pictures 
which  adorn  that  city,  he  hastened  to  Dusseldorf.  He 
had  heard  of  its  celebrated  school,  and  went  there  with 
highly  raised  expectations,  which  were  amply  realized. 
For  some  months  a  greater  confusion  reigned  in  his  mind 
than  he  had  ever  before  known,  in  consequence  of  the 
vast  number  of  fresh  ideas  which  he  then  imbibed.  Gra- 
dually, however,  they  arranged  themselves  into  order. 
The  new-comer  from  America  met  with  a  warm  recep- 
tion from  the  artists,  and  Lessing  offered  to  give  him  les- 
sons. He  soon  undertook  his  picture  of  "  Columbus  be- 
fore the  Council  of  Salamanca."  When  completed.  Di- 
rector V.  Schadow  called  to  see  it,  expressed  his  great 
satisfaction,  and  requested  Leutze  to  offer  it  to  the  Art- 
Union  of  Dusseldorf.  It  was  instantly  purchased  by  that 
institution,  and  this  high  compliment  to  the  genius  of  the 
stranger,  was  rendered  infinitely  more  gratifying  by  the 
universal  and  hearty  sympathy  of  the  artists,  whose  un- 
interrupted friendship  proves  their  sincerity. 

These  circumstances  sufficiently  account  for  Leutze's 
partiality  for  the  German  school,  independent  of  that  affi- 
nity which  may  be  supposed  incident  to  his  birth.    He  is 


176 


ARTIST-LIFE. 


not,  however,  without  reasons  for  this  preference.  "  For 
a  beginner  in  the  arts,"  he  observes,  in  a  recent  letter, 
"  Dusseldorf  is  probably  one  of  the  very  best  schools  now 
in  existence,  and  has  educated  an  uncommon  number  of 
distinguished  men.  The  brotherly  feeling  which  exists 
among  the  artists  is  quite  cheering,  and  only  disturbed 
by  their  speculative  dissensions.  Two  parties  divide  the 
school — the  one  actuated  by  a  severe  and  almost  bigoted 
Catholic  tendency,  at  the  head  of  which  stands  the  Direct- 
or of  the  Academy ;  and  the  other  by  a  free  and  essen- 
tially Protestant  spirit,  of  which  Lessing  is  the  chief  re- 
presentative. The  consistency  and  severity  in  the  me- 
chanical portion  of  the  art  taught  at  this  school,  are  car- 
ried into  the  theory,  and  have  led,  by  order  and  arrange- 
ment, to  a  classification  of  the  subjects,  which  is  of  essen- 
tial service  ;  and  soon  confirmed  me  in  the  conviction  that 
a  thorough  poetical  treatment  of  a  picture  required  that 
the  anecdote  should  not  be  so  much  the  subject,  as  the 
means  of  conveying  some  one  clear  idea,  which  is  to  be 
the  inspiration  of  the  picture.  But  the  artist,  as  a  poet, 
should  first  form  the  clear  thought  as  the  groundwork, 
and  then  adopt  or  create  some  anecdote  from  history  or 
life,  since  painting  can  be  but  partially  narrative  and  is 
essentially  a  contemplative  art.'^ 

The  best  illustration  of  this  view  of  his  profession,  is 
found  in  the  paintings  of  Leutze,  which,  instead  of  merely 
telling  a  story,  have  a  moral  significance — conveying 
some  great  idea  of  chivalry,  as  in  the  Northmen — moral 
dignity,  as  in  Columbus— loyalty  to  truth  or  faith,  as  in 


LEUTZE . 


177 


Knox  and  Queen  Mary.  In  each  instance,  it  is  not  so 
much  the  fidelity  of  the  historical  scene,  as  the  interest  of 
the  moral  purpose,  which  affects  the  spectator.  We  can- 
not forbear  expressing  the  pleasure  which  the  remarks  of 
Leutze  above  quoted  occasion,  as  indicating  a  conscious 
superiority  of  design,  a  lofty  yet  distinct  aim,  that  con- 
firms the  high  opinion  we  had  formed  of  his  genius,  as 
exhibited  in  his  works. 

Three  years  since,  Leutze  visited  Munich — in  his 
opinion  the  best  school  of  painting  in  the  world.  He 
reveled  in  the  glorious  productions  of  Kaulbach,  of  Cor- 
nelius, and  the  many  ancient  specimens  collected  by  the 
art-loving  king  of  the  Bavarians.  He  felt,  in  studying 
creations  like  these,  how  much  remained  for  him  to  attain. 
After  his  recent  constant  application,  there  was,  too,  a 
need  of  tranquillity.  He  knew  that  the  mind,  like  the 
earth,  is  enriched  by  lying  fallow,  and  determined  to  con- 
secrate a  few  months  to  repose.  We  have  already  spo- 
ken of  his  wanderings  in  Virginia.  The  scene  of  his  pre- 
sent retirement  offered  a  rich  contrast.  Having  finished 
Columbus  before  the  Queen,"  Leutze  took  advantage 
of  some  casual  excuse  to  withdraw  himself  awhile,  and 
plunged  for  refreshment  into  the  beautiful  scenery  of  the 
Suabian  Alps — a  region  abounding  in  historical  interest, 
and  full  of  remains  of  the  architecture  of  the  middle  ages. 
For  nearly  half  a  year  he  loitered  about  the  foot  of  the 
Hohenstaufen,  where  stood  the  castle  of  that  great  race, 
alike  romantic  in  its  rise  and  fall,  from  Barbarossa  to  the 
ill-fated  Conradin  of  Naples.    With  the  tone  of  mind  so 

9 


178 


ARTIST-LIFE. 


clearly  evinced  in  his  pictures,  we  can  easily  imagine 
what  food  for  contemplation  Leutze  found  amid  these  tro- 
phies of  the  past — memorials  of  the  strife  between  church 
and  state  that  agitated  civilized  Europe  for  centuriqs. 
There  are  the  picturesque  relics  of  the  free  cities,  with 
their  gray  walls  and  frowning  towers,  in  which  a  few 
hardy  burghers  bade  defiance  to  their  aristocratic  oppres- 
sors, and  gave  the  first  impulse  to  that  love  of  liberty 
which  realized  itself,  after  countless  vicissitudes,  in  the 
institutions  of  that  far  western  land  so  dear  to  the  affec- 
tions of  the  pilgrim  of  art.  The  progress  of  Freedom 
thus  represented  itself  in  pictures  to  his  mind,  forming  a 
long  cycle  from  the  first  dawning  of  free  institutions 
in  the  middle  ages,  to  the  Reformation — through  the  revo- 
lution in  England,  the  causes  of  emigration,  including  the 
discovery  and  settlement  of  America  ;  her  early  protests 
against  oppression — to  the  war  and  Declaration  of  Inde- 
pendence. Leutze  has  given  us  some  noble  illustrations 
of  this  grand  series  of  events,  which  thus  arrayed  them- 
selves to  his  fancy  amid  the  wild  scenery  and  feudal  re- 
mains of  the  Hohenstaufen,  into  a  magnificent  epic  uttered 
in  forms  and  colors  ;  and  we  earnestly  hope  that  he  will 
forge  many  other  enduring  and  golden  links  of  the  chain, 
and  thus  make  the  effective  in  human  art  symbolize  the 
glorious  in  human  destiny.  Such  an  enterprise  accords 
with  the  spirit  of  the  age  infinitely  better  than  the  constant 
and  tame  reproduction  of  obsolete  ideas. 

Leutze  visited  every  city  between  this  region  and  the 
Tyrol,  where  such  views  might  find  nurture  and  expan- 


L  E  U  T  Z  E  . 


179 


sion,  and  arrived  in  Venice  to  experience  the  delight 
with  which  that  unique  city  fills  every  poetic  mind — a 
charm,  we  fear,  soon  to  be  dispelled  by  the  railroad,  about 
to  divorce  the  fair  and  venerable  queen  from  the  sea  for- 
ever. Titian,  Veronese,  and  the  Bellinis,  he  found  were 
only  to  be  known  face  to  face,  and  never  through  lifeless 
translation.  Fresh  as  he  was  from  the  North — to  use  his 
own  expressive  phrase — he  warmed  himself  in  the  sun- 
shine of  their  colors.  At  Bologna  he  first  saw  an  un- 
doubted Raphael,  and  experienced  a  strange  joy  as  he 
stood  before  the  St.  Cecilia.  "  But  my  joy  was  much 
impaired,"  he  writes,  "  by  three  or  four  scaffolds  and 
easels  with  miserable  daubs  that  were  to  be  sent  into  the 
world  as  copies.  I  soon  learned,  however,  by  after  expe- 
rience, that  scarcely  any  beautiful  picture  can  be  seen  in 
Italy  except  through  the  fret- work  of  half-a-dozen  easels." 
A  want  of  sympathy  with  many  of  the  subjects  of  art  in 
Rome,  so  different  from  those  to  which  he  had  been  de- 
voted, prevented  Leutze  from  enjoying  the  Eternal  City 
with  the  enthusiasm  usual  to  artists.  He  could  not  readi- 
ly separate  the  execution  from  the  subject,  though  im- 
pressed with  the  genius  of  the  former.  He  chiefly  ad- 
mired Michael  Angelo,  for  his  power  and  individuality, 
regarding  him  as  the  prophet  of  the  future,  and  Raphael 
as  an  exquisitely  beautiful  reflection  of  the  past.  Here 
Leutze  painted  the  Norsemen.  Through  Pisa,  Genoa, 
and  Milan,  he  went  to  Switzerland — his  powers  of  obser- 
vation constantly  exercised — and  took  the  Rhine  at  Stras- 
burg.    Absorbing  as  the  scenes  of  his  pilgrimage  had 


180 


ARTIST-LIFE. 


proved,  they  had  not  cast  into  the  shade  a  heloved  image, 
which  made  him  greet  the  neighborhood  of  Dusseldorf 
with  emotion  ;  and  one  who  was  there  dear  to  him  soon 
became  the  partner  of  his  life. 

Few  pictures  at  the  last  exhibition  of  the  National 
Academy,  attracted  such  notice  as  The  Landing  of  the 
Northmen."  It  gave,  perhaps,  unqualified  pleasure  to  no 
one,  but  interested  all  who  possessed  any  adequate  sense 
of  what  is  intrinsically  meritorious  in  art.  This  arose 
naturally  from  its  freedom  from  that  tameness  of  design, 
which  is  so  refreshing  to  the  eye  weary  with  exploring 
the  complacent  mediocrities  that  occupy  so  large  a  space 
in  most  annual  exhibitions.  Pausing  before  this  picture, 
we  might,  at  all  events,  congratulate  ourselves  upon  hav- 
ing a  reality  to  look  at.  '^Here,  at  least,"  we  could  say, 
"  is  no  timid  draughtsman,  no  flat  and  superficial  attempt ; 
the  man  who  did  this  was  no  shuffler ;  he  was  not  afraid 
to  call  his  soul  his  own ;  he  had  something  decided  to  say 
with  his  colors  and  drawing,  and  he  has  said  it  very  em- 
phatically, and  we  are  much  obliged  to  him  for  speaking 
out  like  a  man,  instead  of  mumbling.  We  like  the  bold 
style  of  his  address,  and  we  feel  at  once  that  whatever 
may  be  his  deficiencies  in  artistic  skill,  he  has  that  pri- 
mal and  absolute  claim  upon  our  respect  and  affection 
which  consists  in  manhood — a  quality  not  coexistent  by 
necessity  with  any  degree  of  talent  or  species  of  profes- 
sion." ''The  Landing  of  the  Northmen"  is  doubtless  a 
very  extravagant  composition ;  there  is  something  almost 
too  melo-dramatic  about  it.    The  position  of  the  leader, 


L  E  U  T  Z  E  . 


181 


the  rushing  ardor  of  the  debarkation,  the  almost  super- 
natural air  of  the  figures,  strikes  us,  at  first,  as  incongru- 
ous. Some  faults  of  execution,  too,  are  easily  discerned. 
Yet  in  spite  of  these  objections,  the  picture  is  conceived 
in  a  fine  spirit.  We  must  enter  into  the  artist's  idea  to 
enjoy  it.  Let  us  imagine,  then,  the  long  and  anxious 
voyage  that  preceded  this  arrival,  the  chivalric  character 
of  that  race  so  well  suggested  by  the  Norse  songs  of 
Motherwell,  and  the  "  Skeleton  in  Armor"  of  Longfellow  ; 
imagine  them,  after  great  suspense  and  deprivation,  com- 
ing in  sight  of  the  promised  land,  about  to  exchange  the 
dreary  ocean  for  the  safe  and  fertile  precincts  of  a  tropi- 
cal isle !  As  the  boat's  keel  grazed  the  beach,  who,  with 
a  spark  of  enthusiasm,  cannot  sympathize  with  the  leader 
bearing  aloft  in  his  huge  arms  the  bride  who  had  braved 
the  deep  with  him,  arrayed  in  her  queenly  attire,  her 
fair  hair  floating  on  the  land-breeze,  and  her  blue  eyes 
dilated  with  triumph  ?  Is  there  not  a  beautiful  hint  of 
the  heart  of  courtesy"  in  the  woman's  foot  pressed 
upon  the  mariner's  knee,  and  the  care  bestowed  upon  the 
old  mother  in  the  stern  ?  Is  it  not  very  natural  that  the 
sea- worn  boy  should  clutch  at  the  overhanging  grapes  ? 
May  not  the  quietude  in  the  expression  of  the  principal 
female  figure  be  the  calm  of  unutterable  joy  ?  There  is 
a  noble  greeting  in  the  outstretched  arm  of  the  chieftain  ; 
his  air  is  full  of  victorious  happiness,  as  if,  while  realizing 
his  daring  hopes — 

"  Toward  the  shore  he  spread  his  arms 
As  if  the  expanded  soul  diffused  itself, 


182 


ARTIST-LIFE. 


And  carried  to  all  spirits  with  the  act 
Its  affluent  inspiration." 

In  the  picture  of  Cromwell  and  his  Daughter,  we  find  a 
similar  incongruity  in  the  detail  and  power  of  general 
effect.  The  countenances  of  the  two  are  assuredly  full 
of  moral  expression — the  masculine  energy  of  the  Puri- 
tan woman  and  the  subdued  determination  of  her  father, 
tell  their  own  story  with  dramatic  vividness  ;  but  then 
the  female's  arm  is  that  of  a  washerwoman — an  anatomi- 
cal absurdity.  Columbus  in  Chains/'  we  believe,  first 
gained  Leutze  a  wide  renown  on  this  side  of  the  water. 
It  is  too  well  known,  and  justly  appreciated,  to  require  any 
description.  When  sent  to  the  great  exhibition  at  Brus- 
sels, it  received  from  the  King  of  the  Belgians  the  medal 
a  Vermeil,  as  a  "  Recompense  Nationale."  Perhaps  the 
picture  most  characteristic  at  once  of  his  genius  and 
artistic  skill,  is  that  representing  John  Knox  in  his  cele- 
brated interview  with  Queen  Mary.  The  artist  could 
scarcely  have  chosen  a  subject  more  happily  adapted  to 
his  powers.  The  varied  passions  enlisted  on  that  remark- 
able occasion  are  admirably  portrayed.  The  work  is 
sufficient  to  stamp  Leutze  as  a  master  of  expression. 
That  of  the  queen  and  great  reformer  are  given  with 
singular  fidelity,  and  equal  what  the  imagination  antici- 
pated. The  painter  has  greatly  heightened  the  dramatic 
effect  of  the  whole  by  the  introduction  of  two  female  at- 
tendants, one  French  and  the  other  Scotch — the  one,  of 
course,  astonished  at  the  heresy,  and  perhaps  disgusted 


LEU  T  Z  E. 


183 


at  the  assurance  of  Knox,  and  the  other  full  of  sympathy 
for  Mary.  This  excellent  work  is  in  the  possession  of  a 
gentleman  of  Philadelphia.  We  confess,  however,  to  no 
little  partiality  for  another  picture  by  Leutze  belonging  to 
a  truly  patriotic  lover  of  the  arts,  whose  small  but  most 
admirable  collection  nobly  vindicates  the  claims  of  our 
own  artists  to  generous  patronage.*  It  is  "  Columbus  be- 
fore the  Queen."  We  have  heard  the  figure  of  the  lat- 
ter complained  of  as  wanting  grace,  but  to  us  there  is 
something  exceedingly  true  to  nature  in  the  contrast  be- 
tween her  bearing  and  that  of  Ferdinand.  He  does  not 
forget  himself,  but  listens  with  royal  self-possession  ;  yet 
is  cunning  suffered  to  betray  itself  in  the  expression  of 
his  motionless  features.  But  in  Isabella  the  woman  su- 
persedes the  queen.  There  is  a  fine  abandonment  in  her 
very  attempt  at  self-control,  and  the  manner  in  which  the 
hand  presses  the  temples  is  part  of  the  natural  language 
of  subdued  feeling.  The  figure  of  Columbus  is  noble 
and  impressive.  The  felicity  with  which  so  many  forms 
are  grouped,  the  emotion  or  its  absence  in  the  different 
faces,  the  fine  harmony  of  coloring,  and  variety  of  cos- 
tume, make  the  picture  a  delightful  and  satisfactory  study. 

There  is  a  spirit  in  the  world  born  of  earnest  natures, 
which  gives  rise  to  what  may  be  called  the  poetry  of  ac- 
tion. It  aims  to  embody  heroic  dreams,  and  prompts  men 
to  nourish  great  designs  in  secret,  to  leap  from  the  crowd 
of  passive  lookers-on,  and  become  pioneers,  discoverers, 
and  martyrs.    It  gives  the  primary  impulse  to  reform, 

*  A.  M.  Cozzens,  Esq. 


184 


ARTIST-LIFE  , 


lends  sublime  patience  to  scientific  research,  cheers  the 
vigil  and  nerves  the  arm  of  him  who  keeps  watch  or 
wages  battle  for  humanity.  It  is  the  spirit  of  Adventure. 
The  navigators  of  the  age  of  Elizabeth,  and  the  religious 
innovators  of  a  later  day,  knew  its  inspiration ;  and  in  all 
times  the  knight,  the  apostle,  the  crusader,  and  the  emi  - 
grant, have  illustrated  its  power.  All  the  momentous 
epochs  of  life  and  history  are  alive  with  its  presence,  and 
it  glows  alike  in  the  wars  of  Spanish  invasion,  the  protests 
of  Luther,  the  voyages  of  Raleigh,  the  revolt  of  Masa- 
niello,  the  experiment  of  Fulton,  and  in  the  heart  of  many 
a  volunteer  who  is,  at  this  moment,  encamped  beyond  the 
Rio  Grande.  Leutze  delights  in  representing  Adventure. 
He  ardently  sympathizes  with  chivalric  action  and  spirit- 
stirring  events  ;  not  the  abstractly  beautiful  or  the  simply 
true,  but  the  heroic,  the  progressive,  the  individual,  and 
earnest  phases  of  life,  warm  his  fancy  and  attract  his 
pencil.  His  forte  is  the  dramatic.  Events  awaken  his  in- 
terest far  more  than  still-life,  however  charming  ;  and  the 
scenes  he  aspires  to  portray,  instead  of  being  calm  reflec- 
tions of  nature,  must  be  alive  with  some  destiny,  sugges- 
tive of  a  great  epoch  in  human  affairs,  or  palpitate  with 
the  concentrated  life  of  one  of  those  moments  in  an  indi- 
vidual's career,  when  the  thoughts  of  years  converge  to  a 
focus,  or  shape  themselves  into  victorious  achievement. 
This  sense  of  the  adventurous,  and  vivid  sympathy  with 
what  is  impressive  in  character  and  memorable  in  history, 
seems  to  us  the  marked  characteristic  of  Leutze's  genius. 
It  is  manifest  in  all  his  successful  efforts,  and  distinguishes 


L  E  U  T  Z  E  . 


185 


him  from  that  large  class  of  artists  who  are  quite  content 
with  the  mere  beauty  of  a  scene,  and  the  familiar  in  life. 
If  Leutze  were  not  a  painter,  he  certainly  would  join 
some  expedition  to  the  Rocky  Mountains,  thrust  himself 
into  a  fiery  political  controversy,  or  seek  to  wrest  a  new 
truth  from  the  arcana  of  science.  He  is  a  living  evidence 
of  one  of  Emerson's  aphorisms — ^'  there  is  hope  in  ex- 
travagance, there  is  none  in  routine."  We  remember 
hearing  a  brother  artist  describe  him  in  his  studio  at  Rome? 
engaged  for  hours  upon  a  picture,  deftly  shifting  pallette, 
segar,  and  maul-stick  from  hand  to  hand,  as  occasion  re- 
quired ;  absorbed,  rapid,  intent,  and  then  suddenly  break- 
ing from  his  quiet  task  to  vent  his  constrained  spirits  in 
a  jovial  song,  or  a  romp  with  his  great  dog,  whose  voci- 
ferous barking  he  thoroughly  enjoyed  ;  and  often  abandon- 
ing his  quiet  studies  for  some  wild,  elaborate  frolic,  as  if 
a  row  was  essential  to  his  happiness.  His  very  jokes 
partook  of  this  bold  heartiness  of  disposition.  He  scorned 
all  ultra-refinement,  and  found  his  impulse  to  art  not  so 
much  in  delicate  perception  as  in  vivid  sensation.  There 
was  ever  a  reaction  from  the  meditative.  His  tempera- 
ment is  Teutonic — hardy,  cordial,  and  brave.  Such  men 
hold  the  conventional  in  little  reverence,  and  their  natures 
gush  like  mountain  streams,  with  wild  freedom  and  un- 
chastened  enthusiasm.  Leutze  resembles  Carlyle.  There 
must  be  great  affinity  in  their  minds — both  impress  and 
win  us  through  a  kind  of  manly  sincerity  and  courage- 
ous bearing.  The  paintings  of  the  one,  like  the  writings 
of  the  other,  often  violate  good  taste  and  offend  us  by  ex- 

9* 


186 


ARTIST-LIFE. 


ageration  in  details ;  but  we  readily  forgive  such  defects, 
because  of  the  earnest  and  adventurous  spirit,  the  exhila- 
rating strength  of  will,  the  genuine  individuality  they  ex- 
hibit.  Both,  too,  eloquently  teach  Hero- Worship,  and  en- 
list our  sympathies  in  behalf  of  those  who  bravely  endure 
or  calmly  dare  for  the  sake  of  "  an  idea  dearer  than  self." 
Leutze  has  given  evidence  that  he  can  illustrate  some  of 
the  highest  tendencies  of  the  age.    We  recognize  in  him 
a  prophetic  rather  than  a  retrospective  genius.    If  true 
to  himself,  he  will  convey  higher  and  more  effective  les- 
sons than  modern  art  has  usually  a^spired  to.    We  have 
painters  enough  who  can  ably  depict  the  actual  in  exter- 
nal nature,  and  the  ideal  of  beauty  in  the  abstract ;  but 
very  few  who  have  the  energy  and  comprehensiveness  to 
seize  upon  heroic  attitudes,  and  make  clear  to  the  senses, 
as  well  as  to  the  soul,  that  "  the  angel  of  martyrdom  is 
brother  to  the  angel  of  victory."  Leutze  has  a  heart  that 
beats  in  unison  with  the  echoes  of  the  mountains,  that 
swells  at  the  thought  of  great  deeds  and  exalted  suffering, 
and  can  appreciate  the  majestic  loveliness  that  plays,  like 
a  divine  halo,  around  those  who  have  deemed  freedom 
and  truth  dearer  than  life,  and  vindicated  their  faith  by 
deeds.    We  hope  to  see  more  of  the  great  events  of  our 
own  history  made  the  subject  of  his  labors,  for  we  are 
confident  that  no  living  painter  is  better  fitted  to  enter 
into  the  spirit  which  makes  glorious  our  country's  annals, 
than  Emmanuel  Leutze. 


HUNTINGTON. 


Some  fourteen  years  ago,  within  a  stone's  throw  of 
the  glorious  old  elms  of  New  Haven,  a  slightly  built 
youth,  with  a  green  shade  over  his  eyes,  was  intent  upon 
the  Odes  of  Horace,  at  three  o'clock  in  the  morning. 
The  fact  in  itself  is  nothing  very  extraordinary,  but  taken 
in  connection  with  the  after-career  of  the  student,  it  is  not 
without  interest.  The  hour  and  the  occupation  certainly 
indicate  something  like  earnestness  of  purpose ;  but  cha- 
racter is  no  less  forcibly  displayed  in  pastime  than  in 
toil.  With  what  an  elastic  step  and  ringing  laugh — the 
natural  language  of  a  sensitive  and  buoyant  temper — he 
doffs,  at  the  noonday  recess,  his  studious  mood,  and  how 
the  young  faces  at  the  evening  club  grow  expectant  when 
his  turn  comes  to  read  a  paper !  They  know  a  graphic 
sketch  of  some  comrade  is  forthcoming,  but  little  do  they 
imagine  as  they  recognize  the  different  traits,  that  the 
juvenile  ability  is  eventually  to  shape  itself  into  artistic 
skill,  that  shall  produce  what  is  lasting  and  endeared. 
Yet  one  of  the  merry  group  in  thus  recalling  the  school- 
days of  Huntington,  says  that  even  then  "  his  soul  was 


188 


ARTIST-LIFE, 


filled  with  a  love  of  the  beautiful — and  a  reaching  after 
it,  was  an  impulsive  effort  of  his  nature." 

There  is  a  mechanical  and  a  spiritual  element  in  art, 
a  body  and  a  soul,  a  certain  physical  dexterity,  adroit- 
ness, and  tact,  attainable  through  imitative  and  manual 
power ;  and  above  and  beyond  this  outward  skill,  there 
is  an  intelligent  principle,  a  spirit,  the  infusion  of  which 
sublimates  and  makes  expressive  what  were  otherwise 
without  significance.  It  is  the  combination  and  mutual 
development  of  these  two  principles  variously  modified 
that  distinguish  and  characterize  all  products  of  art. 
Drawing,  coloring,  the  rules  of  perspective,  foreshorten- 
ing, and  chiaro  'scuro,  are  to  the  artist  what  words,  sen- 
tences, and  rhythm  are  to  the  writer — the  vehicles  and 
instruments  of  his  mind.  Felichy  in  using  them  is  most 
desirable,  and  a  good  degree  of  mastery  over  them  essen- 
tial; but  it  should  never  be  forgotten  that  they  do  not 
constitute,  but  only  embody  art.  They  may  be  acquired 
by  men  of  industry  and  ordinary  intelligence,  and  bear 
the  same  relation  to  art  in  its  highest  sense,  that  the  wax 
preparations  of  an  anatomical  museum  do  to  the  living 
man.  They  are  the  material  facts,  and  unless  electri- 
fied by  invention,  warmed  by  feeling,  or  inspired  with 
life,  convey  no  mental  impression,  and  excite  no  sympa- 
thy. If  it  were  otherwise,  the  daguerreotype,  carried  to 
greater  perfection,  might  supersede  the  limner's  toil,  and 
a  musical  instrument  be  fashioned  which  would  take  the 
place  of  vocalism.  But  the  distinction  between  mind  and 
matter,  between  physical  and  moral  laws,  the  senses  and 


HUNTINGTON. 


189 


the  soul,  is  absolute.    Only  the  living,  reasoning  intel- 
lect, and  the  conscious,  earnest  heart,  can  make  form, 
sound,  or  color,  eloquent  of  truth.    Mechanical  ingenuity- 
has  been  carried  to  a  height,  in  our  times,  beyond  the 
wildest  imaginings  of  antiquity ;  and  yet  in  no  age  have 
spiritual  laws,  the  mxysterious  analogies  of  life,  the  bound- 
less aspirations  and  infinite  needs  of  humanity,  been  more 
widely  and  intelligibly  recognized.    Every  work  of  art 
and  literature  is  challenged  now,  not  merely  as  an  object 
of  external  criticism,  but  with  a  view  to  its  moral  signifi- 
cance.   A  beautiful  style,  whether  of  painting  or  writing, 
is  not  suffered  to  conceal  poverty  of  ideas.    Words  may 
be  strung  in  euphonious  paragraphs,  figures  may  be  cor- 
rectly designed,  and  colors  harmoniously  blended,  but 
unless  they  have  a  meaning,  clear,  true,  and  interesting, 
they  are  but  listlessly  viewed,  and  never  responded  to. 
Conformity  to  academic  precepts  is  now  but  a  negative 
merit.    Violation  of  rules  is  sooner  pardoned  than  loose- 
ness of  conception.    The  progress  of  science,  the  diffu- 
sion of  knowledge,  and  political  revolutions,  have  revealed 
to  the  mass  the  difference  between  appearances  and 
reality,  the  conventional  and  the  genuine.    Instead  of 
elegantly-penned  Spectators,  we  have  the  cogent  rhetoric 
of  Carlyle  and  Macaulay,   and  ^'Corn-Law  Rhymes" 
and    Psalms  of  Life"  are  more  popular  than  the  most 
finished  courtier  verses.    The  casket  may  be  elaborately 
polished  and  adorned,  but  its  finish  no  longer  diverts 
attention  from  the  gems  within  ;  and  the  brightest  artillery 
of  expression  is  inadequate  to  win  the  mind  from  the 


190 


ARTIST-LIFE. 


thing  expressed.    The  writer  and  the  artist  of  our  times 
may,  therefore,  congratulate  himself  if  his  works  will 
bear  this  test — if  the  interest  he  inspires  is  born  mainly 
of  his  soul,  and  only  relatively  from  the  implements  he 
employs.    Huntington  is  obviously  of  this  school.  We 
think  little  of  the  process  by  which  it  works,  as  we  con- 
template his  pictures.  The  idea  of  a  very  skillful  imitation 
of  some  physical  quality  or  material  fabric,  does  not  pre- 
sent itself  at  once  to  the  spectator.    We  do  not  instinc- 
tively set  about  a  comparison  between  the  objects  on  the 
canvas  and  their  types  in  nature.    These  considerations, 
if  they  suggest  themselves  at  all,  are  matters  of  after- 
thought.   It  is  to  our  sympathies  rather  than  our  obser- 
vation that  it  appeals.    It  aims  not  merely  to  portray 
fine  looking  men  and  women ;  but  represents  states  of 
mind,  conditions  of  feeling,  phases  of  character.  The 
minute  exactitude  of  the  Flemish  school,  and  the  drama- 
tic effect  of  the  French,  are  equally  distant  from  its  pro- 
vince.   The  main  idea,  the  chief  aim  of  its  pictures,  to 
which  fidelity  of  detail  and  artistical  effect  are  subsidiary, 
is  to  express  a  sentiment,  and  this  it  is  which  at  once  at- 
tracts and  pervades  us  as  we  gaze.     It  would  not 
amuse,  dazzle,  or  simply  please  us;  it  teaches  and  in- 
spires, by  some  lofty,  sweet,  or  pious  feeling,  represented 
with  unaffected  grace  and  simplicity.    Those  who  can- 
not seize  at  once  upon  this  emotion,  who  do  not  find  some 
passage  of  their  lives,  or  tendency  of  their  character,  or  in- 
stinct of  their  nature,  thus  brought  palpably  to  view  ;  who 
are  not,  as  it  were,  mesmerized  by  and  placed  in  relation 


HUNTINGTON. 


191 


with  the  subject,  fail  to  recognize  what  is  most  character- 
istic of  this  class  of  artists.    Those  who  have  an  eye  only 
for  the  picturesque,  or  whose  notion  of  painting  is  confined 
to  the  graphic  reflection  of  external  nature,  will  find  com- 
paratively but  little  satisfaction  in  the  fruits  of  such  pen- 
cils; but  all  who  delight  in  the  beauty  of  the  inner 
world,  who  are  aware  of  what  is  latent  in  existence,  who 
are  wont,  like  the  patriarch,  to  go  forth  and  muse  at  even- 
tide— to  whom  love  and  faith  are  necessary  and  real,  will 
enter  into  the  feeling,  and  accept  the  suggestions  which 
breathe  from  their  canvas.    They  are  not  definite,  scho- 
lastic, nor  vivacious  and  brilliant,  nor  yet  wild  and  ter- 
rible, but  chaste  and  gentle,  serene  and  elevated ;  and 
they  are  so,  not  through  any  strongly  marked,  but 
through  a  vague  and  contemplative  manner.   It  is  by  the 
atmosphere,  rather  than  the  outlines,  that  they  impart 
themselves — as  Charles  Lamb  does  in  a  letter,  or  Barry 
Cornwall  in  a  song — by  the  overflow  rather  than  the 
crystallization  of  a  mood.    As  there  are  vocalists  who 
affect  us  by  the  feeling  rather  than  the  science  of  their 
tones,  and  talkers  whom  we  delight  in  less  for  the  distinct 
ideas  they  utter,  than  on  account  of  the  genial  influence  of 
their  conversation,  so  there  are  artists  whom  we  love  less 
because  of  any  energetic  individuality  of  conception  than 
for  the  refreshment  of  the  general  tone,  the  spirit  in 
which  they  work,  the  melody  they  bring  out  of  their 
themes,  which  never  obtrude  or  declare  themselves,  but 
rather  hint,  quietly  suggest,  and  gradually  win.  Such 
productions  spring  from  the  same  source  to  which  Hunt 


192 


ARTIST- LIFE. 


ascribes  poetry — a  fine  liability  to  impressions,  and  are 
directly  the  reverse  in  their  origin  and  influence  of  all 
that  is  fantastic,  morbid  or  technical.  Without  preten- 
sion, unaided  by  any  mechanical  trickery,  like  the  wild 
flower,  the  air,  or  a  bird's  song,  the  spell  is  gentle,  but 
true  and  sweet,  and  such  as  it  is  both  wise  and  happy 
to  feel. 

A  man's  intellectual  endowments  stamp  his  works, 
but  his  social  qualities  are  more  influential  in  shaping 
their  character.  That  Huntington  would  make  an  effec- 
tive painter  might  have  been  confidently  predicted  from 
his  talents,  but  what  kind  of  a  painter  would  depend 
upon  his  natural  sympathies.  Frank,  generous,  and 
wholly  unaffected,  the  affectionate  observer  of  his  mental 
development  could  not  fail  to  perceive  that  what  he  he- 
lieved  that  he  would  do.  We  have  spoken  of  his  boyish 
propensity  for  association.  After  his  studies  at  Hamilton 
College  were  completed,  he  began  practically  as  an  art- 
ist, availing  himself  of  the  instructions  of  a  professor  and 
the  privileges  of  the  National  Academy.  In  conjunction 
with  a  friend,  since  honorably  distinguished  as  a  church- 
man and  poet,  he  founded  a  club.  At  first  this  society 
was  purely  recreative,  an  agreeable  safety-valve  whereby 
our  artist's  inventive  and  overflowing  humor — a  quality 
often  allied  to  sensibility  and  thoughtfulness,  as  Shak- 
speare  has  inimitably  shown  in  the  Prince  of  Denmark — 
found  genial  scope.  The  comedy  of  life,  for  which  even 
the  stern  Michael  Angelo  had  a  keen  relish,  had  free  play 
when  the  members  foregathered,  and  none  more  genially 


HUNTINGTON. 


193 


shared  and  provoked  the  sport  than  Huntington.  Among 
the  members  was  one  whose  idiosyncrasies  harmonized 
with  the  rites  and  associations  of  Episcopacy,  or  rather 
with  Catholicism  rightly  understood  ;  who  loved  the  mem- 
ory of  Charles  the  First,  and  ardently  recognized  what 
was  noble  in  the  spirit  of  the  cavaliers ;  to  whom  Advent 
and  Lent,  Passion-week  and  Christmas,  were  not  mere 
names,  but  fond  and  sacred  realities,  whose  inspiration 
has  found  such  beautiful  embodiment  abroad  in  Ke- 
ble's  Christian  Year,"  and  on  this  side  of  the  water, 
in  the  poems  of  Croswell  and  Cleveland  Coxe.  Such  was 
the  influence  that  pervaded  the  inner  circle  of  Hunting- 
ton's associates  as  his  gifts  were  verging  towards  matu- 
rity. It  accorded  with  some  of  his  early  predilections, 
his  mother's  family  having  been  Episcopalians.  Hitherto 
he  had  sought  the  beautiful  in  the  fields  and  sky,  and 
passed  from  the  comic  to  the  serious  as  one  may  go  from 
a  band  of  gamesome  companions,  who  fleet  the  time 
lightly  as  they  did  in  the  golden  age,"  to  the  vast  and 
fair  in  outward  nature — as  Jacques  left  the  merry  cour- 
tiers of  the  exiled  monarch  for  the  shade  of  melancholy 
boughs."  While  life  was  "  all  a  feeling  not  yet  shaped 
into  a  thought,"  our  young  artist  was  content  to  portray 
"  A  Toper  Asleep,"  and  "  A  Bar-room  Politician,"  or 
"  Ichabod  Crane  flogging  a  Scholar,"  clever,  true  to  life, 
and  abounding  in  that  love  of  fun,  which  is  one  of  the 
moods  of  genius.  As  his  nature  deepened  from  experi- 
ence, he  sought  in  landscape  a  wider  sphere,  and  for 
months  roamed  about  his  native  state,  and  particularly  in 


194 


ARTIST-LIFE. 


the  vicinity  of  the  Hudson,  painting  the  glorious  scenes 
near  Verplanck's,  the  Dunderberg  mountain,  and  views 
of  the  Rondout,  at  twilight  and  sunset.  But  while  thus 
freely  communing  with  natural  beauty,  he  gradually 
yielded  to  a  more  direct  and  intimate  agency.  By  the 
spiritual  cast  of  his  mind  and  the  daily  conversation  of 
his  friends,  as  well  as  from  the  vivid  impressions  of  child- 
hood, ideas  such  as  immortalize  the  creations  of  Overbeck 
and  hallow  the  names  of  Raphael  and  Domenichino,  be- 
came familiar  and  dear,  and  he  felt  himself  destined  for 
a  religious  painter.  All  that  had  preceded  was  admira- 
bly calculated  to  promote  his  success.  His  ability,^  at 
once  felt  and  acknowledged  in  landscape,  and  the  bold 
and  characteristic  style  of  his  portraits,  were  simply  evi- 
dences that  he  possessed  the  requisite  command  both  of 
figure  and  scenery,  and  now  to  these  mechanical  apti- 
tudes were  added  the  inspiration  of  Faith. 

Two  visits  to  Europe,  where  his  time  was  chiefly 
passed  in  Rome,  without  making  Huntington  an  imitator, 
have  contributed  to  improve  his  taste,  and  afforded  him 
many  desirable  facilities  for  advancing  in  the  high  and 
difficult  range  of  art  to  which  his  native  instincts  sponta- 
neously led.  If  his  life  is  spared,  we  feel  assured  he  is 
destined  to  add  most  worthily  to  the  existent  trophies  of 
Christian  art,  for  since  Allston  our  country  can  boast 
no  painter  whose  tone  of  mind  and  character  is  so 
well  adapted  for  this  species  of  excellence.  As  pledges 
of  what  he  may  do,  it  is  only  necessary  to  allude  to 
his  pictures  of  "  Early  Christian  Prisoners,''  "  Chris- 


HUNTINGTON. 


195 


tiana  and  her  Children  escaping  from  the  Valley  of  the 
Shadow  of  Death,"  "  The  Woman  of  Samaria  at  the 
Well/'  and  The  Communion  of  the  Sick.''  The  latter 
represents  the  giving  of  the  Viaticum  to  a  Dying  Chris- 
tian in  the  primitive  age.  A  priest  is  administering  the 
consecrated  bread,  and  a  young  deacon  waits  with  the 
chalice.  It  has  been  said  that  its  effect  on  the  devout 
mind  is  hardly  inferior  to  that  produced  by  the  celebrated 
"  Communion  of  St.  Jerome." 

If  we  were  to  select  any  one  picture  as  illustrative  of 
the  genius  of  Huntington,  it  would  be  "  The  Dream  of 
Mercy."  It  is  in  the  collection  of  as  judicious  a  patron 
of  the  arts  as  we  have  yet  had  among  us,*  whose  latter 
years,  darkened  as  they  would  otherwise  have  been  by 
illness  and  confinement,  derived  an  interest  and  a 
beauty  from  his  devotion  to  this  high  source  of  plea- 
sure, which  affords  a  noble  example  to  all  who  have 
the  soul  to  redeem  trial  or  adorn  prosperity.  In  this 
painting  the  sweetest  fancies  of  the  brave  author  of  that 
immortal  allegory,  "  Pilgrim's  Progress,"  are  admirably 
concentrated.  The  consoling  rays  that  glorified  his  im- 
prisonment so  long  ago,  still  quiver  around  the  face  of  the 
blest  sleeper,  and  buoy  up  the  wings  of  the  angel  that  fills 
her  dream.  A  kindred  feeling  broods  over  the  work  to 
that  which  charms  us  in  Correggio's  Magdalen.  The  idea 
expressed  is,  indeed,  different.  The  gracefulness  of  Gui- 
do's  "  Michael  triumphing  over  Satan,"  is  observable  in 


*  The  late  Edward  L.  Carey. 


196 


ARTIST- LIFE. 


the  winged  messenger,  but  the  expression  of  Mercy  is 
heavenly.  A  violinist,  under  the  influence  of  tender  or 
aspiring  emotion,  will  sometimes  cause  his  instrument  to 
vibrate  with  a  thrilling  accent,  born  not  of  the  music  he 
interprets,  but  rather  the  offspring  of  an  individual  feel- 
ing. Thus,  in  depicting  "  Mercy's  Dream,"  has  Hunt- 
ington informed  it  with  a  sentiment  of  his  own.  If  he 
was  not  thus  inspired,  we  are  totally  deficient  in  meta- 
physical perception.  When  he  had  nearly  finished  this 
picture,  a  friend  objected  that  he  should  rather  have  cho- 
sen his  subject  from  Spenser  than  from  Bunyan.  The 
next  day,  the  artist,  by  introducing  a  cross  in  the  crown 
which  the  angel  extends  to  Mercy,  added  a  beautiful  sig- 
nificance to  the  composition. 

And  this  brings  us  to  that  mooted  question  which  has 
been  such  a  thorn  in  the  side  to  conscientious  but  narrow 
minds — the  true  relation  of  Art  to  Religion.  To  deny 
any  whatever,  is  absurd,  as  long  as  men  gather  beneath  a 
roof,  however  simple,  to  worship  ;  and  if  we  recognize  in 
the  arcades  of  the  forest  and  the  glory  of  the  mountain, 
either  the  tokens  of  divine  benignity  or  the  unconscious 
praise  which  the  universe  offers  to  her  Creator,  how  much 
more  significant  are  the  intelligent  trophies  of  genius 
which  his  love  has  consecrated,  when  gathered  to  illus- 
trate His  truth  !  The  recoil  of  the  world's  free  spirits 
from  the  civic  tyranny  of  Papacy,  has  blinded  too  many 
to  what  is  essentially  good  and  true  in  her  customs. 
When  we  meet  the  idea  dissevered  from  all  incidental 
prejudice,  the  attempt  to  set  forth  what  is  most  touching  in 


HUNTINGTON. 


197 


the  Christian  faith,  in  melody  that  wraps  the  soul  in  a 
holy  trance,  or  in  forms  and  colors  that  bring  worthily 
before  the  eye  examples  that  cheer  or  soften,  or  purify 
the  weary  and  cold  affections,  does  it  not  commend  itself 
to  reason  ?  It  is  in  vain  for  a  few  peculiar,  though  it  may 
be  superior  minds,  to  legislate  for  humanity.  We  must 
look  at  our  race  objectively  and  not  merely  through  our  in- 
dividual consciousness.  They  are  destined  to  receive 
good,  not  according  to  any  partial  theories,  but  by  the  ob- 
servance of  universal  laws,  by  reverently  consulting  the 
wants,  capacities,  and  principles  that  are  traced  in  the 
very  organization  of  man  by  the  hand  of  Creative  wisdom. 
Thus  regarded,  is  it  not  obvious  that  through  the  senses 
we  must  reach  the  soul — ^^that  the  abstract  must  be  made 
real — that  sensation  is  the  channel  of  spirituality  ?  Why 
runs  there  through  the  frame  this  delicate  and  complex 
web  of  nerves  ?  Why  do  eye  and  ear  take  in  impres- 
sions which  stir  the  very  fountains  of  emotion,  and  gra- 
dually mould  the  character  ?  Why  are  brain  and 
heart  filled  and  electrified  by  art  ?  Is  it  not  because 
she  is  the  interpreter  of  life,  the  medium  through  which 
we  are  more  conscious  everlastingly  of  high  and  vast 
destinies  ?  Argue  and  moralize  as  bigots  may,  they 
cannot  impugn  the  design  of  God  in  creating  a  distinct 
and  most  influential  faculty  in  our  nature,  which  has  not 
merely  a  useful  or  temporary  end — the  sense  of  the 
beautiful.  Ideality  is  as  much  a  heaven-implanted  ele- 
ment as  conscientiousness.  Nature's  surpassing  grandeur 
and  loveliness  hourly  minister  to  it,  and  Art,  in  its 


198 


ARTIST-LIFE. 


broadest  and  highest  sense,  is  its  legitimate  manifestation. 
When  a  human  voice  of  marvelous  depth  and  sweetness 
yields  to  thousands  a  pure  and  rich  delight,  or  a  human 
hand  of  ideal  skill  traces  scenes  of  grace  and  sublimity, 
and  bequeathes  the  features  hallowed  by  love  or  glorified 
by  fame, — then  is  the  worthiest  praise  offered  to  God  by 
the  right  and  sacred  exercise  of  those  faculties  which 
unite  mortal  to  angelic  existence.  Far,  then,  be  from  every 
liberal  mind  and  feeling  heart  the  idea  that  genuine  art 
can  ever  profane  religion,  that  the  symbol  must  necessa- 
rily shroud  the  fact,  that  in  seizing  on  any  intermediate 
links  of  the  golden  chain  which  binds  us  to  eternity,  as 
with  our  frailty  and  limited  vision  we  are  ever  fain  to  do, 
any  serious  alienation  is  threatened  to  what  is  actual  in 
faith  or  desirable  in  sentiment.  As  long  as  we  have 
senses,  they  must  be  represented  ;  and  there  is  far  less 
danger  of  our  being  enthralled  to  images  or  ideas  of  any 
kind  than  to  interest,  the  basest  and  most  subjugating  as 
well  as  universal  of  idolatries. 

In  Huntington's  aim  there  is  something  that  revives 
to  the  imagination  that  noble  band  of  artists  who  so  glo- 
riously illustrated  religion  in  the  palmy  days  of  the 
church.  His  figures  generally  have  the  roundness  which 
distinguishes  several  of  the  best  Italian  masters,  and  his 
tints  are  subdued  and  harmonized  like  many  of  the  fa- 
vorite pictures  both  of  the  Roman  and  Tuscan  schools. 
Another  incidental  analogy  may  be  found  in  the  circum- 
stance that  in  several  of  his  pictures  the  same  female 
physiognomy  is  discoverable.    The  eye  is  gratified,  with- 


HUNTINGTON  . 


199 


out  being  perplexed,  by  a  chaste  tone  and  judicious  com- 
bination of  hues.  His  draperies  do  not  take  the  place 
of,  but  only  cover  his  forms.  We  recognize  the  bosom 
under  the  tunic  and  the  arm  within  the  sleeve.  A 
striking  merit  in  his  compositions  is  their  simplicity. 
Several  of  his  happiest  efforts  consist  of  two  or  three 
figures  of  half-length  life  size — a  species  of  painting  ad- 
mirably fitted  to  embellish  the  walls  of  our  dwellings, 
where  more  ambitious  specimens  would  be  out  of  place. 
This  singleness  of  purpose  and  absence  of  complexity  in 
design,  render  his  works  at  once  intelligible,  and  on  this 
account  they  convey  a  more  decided,  lasting,  and  entire 
impression.  Take,  for  instance,  the  Sacred  Lesson." 
An  old  man,  with  lofty  and  wrinkled  brow^  venerable 
beard,  and  an  expression  of  calm  and  holy  wisdom,  is 
pointing  to  an  open  missal,  and  as  he  speaks — what  we 
feel  to  be  words  of  divine  meaning — a  beautiful  girl, 
with  an  ingenuous  and  innocent  countenance,  from  which 
beams  a  look  of  meek  inquiry  and  sweet  confidence, 
gazes  and  listens  in  devout  attention.  It  is  evident 
that  to  that  fair  creature  the  lesson  is,  indeed,  sacred ; 
and  that  to  her  teacher  may  be  applied  the  description 
which  a  late  poet*  gives  of  the  lover  of  the  "  Sexton's 
Daughter  " — 

"  Yet  coukl  he  temper  love  and  meekness 
With  all  the  sacred  might  of  law, 
Dissevering  gentleness  from  weakness. 
And  hallowing  tenderness  by  awe." 


*  Sterhng. 


200 


ARTIST-LIFE. 


Similar  in  kind,  though  various  in  degree,  is  the  usual 
influence  of  Huntington's  pictures.  He  does  not  always 
do  himself  justice,  and  his  sketches  are  often  more  illus- 
trative of  his  taste  than  his  elaborate  paintings.  In 
characterizing  his  style  we  alluded  to  his  best  efforts,  and 
the  evident  tendency  of  his  mind.  They  breathe  a 
spirit  which,  in  this  busy  and  eager  country,  amid  the 
warfare  of  trade  and  politics,  seems  to  us  peculiarly  de- 
sirable. When,  from  the  anxious  mart  or  the  thronged 
arena,  the  American  citizen  retires  to  his  home,  the  ex- 
citing battle-pieces  of  Salvator  or  the  festive  scenes  of 
the  Flemish  limners,  however  admirable  in  themselves, 
bring  not  precisely  the  refreshment  he  needs,  and  which 
art  can  so  genially  bestow.  It  is  well  for  his  eye  to  rest 
upon  some  aspect  of  humanity  calmer  and  more  exalted. 
It  is  needful  that  the  privacy  of  his  domestic  retreat 
should  be  hallowed  by  images  of  serene  truth,  indicative 
of  repose  and  hope — not  that  "  stick  at  nothing,  Herodias- 
daughter  kind  of  grace,"  but  tranquil,  contemplative 
subjects,  the  brow  all  wisdom  and  the  lips  all  love." 
The  pleasurable  and  soothing  contrasts  thus  afforded  be- 
tween life  and  art,  the  holy  efficiency  of  the  latter  in 
cooling  the  fevered  pulse  and  awakening  the  heart  to 
better  aims  and  a  nobler  faith,  are  fmely  illustrated  by 
painters  who,  like  the  subject  of  this  notice,  seem  to 
whisper  from  the  glowing  canvas — to  be  spiritually 
minded  is  life  eternal."  And  these  silent  guests, 
with  their  beautiful  teachings,  their  unobtrusive  inspira- 
tion, their  familiar  grace,  make  the  loneliest  room  a 


HUNTINGTON. 


201 


temple,  and  yield  some  of  the  choicest  joys  of  society, 
without  the  chilliness  of  etiquette  or  the  wearisome  de- 
mands of  vanity.  Like  Ophelia  and  Cordelia,  they  put 
us  on  a  sweet  track  of  musing  ;  and  if  it  be  true,  as  has 
been  said,  that  the  strength  of  virtue  is  serenity  of  mind, 
the  artists  who  work  in  this  spirit  are  genuine  priests  of 
humanity  and  oracles  of  God. 


10 


DE  AS. 


The  gardens  of  the  desert,  as  one  of  our  poets  calls 
the  prairies,  constitute  a  peculiar  feature  of  American 
scenery.  To  an  experienced  foreigner  the  great  charm 
which  invites  a  pilgrimage  to  this  continent,  is  the  inter- 
esting spectacle  afforded  by  primeval  nature,  and  the  jux- 
taposition of  civilized  and  savage  life,  so  richly  in  contrast 
with  scenes  familiar  in  the  Old  World.  If  there  be  any 
legitimate  foundation  for  a  literature  essentially  Ameri- 
can, it  is  doubtless  referable  to  like  sources.  A  man  of 
genius,  with  keen  powers  of  observation,  who  came  over 
in  one  of  the  earliest  steamers  that  crossed  the  Atlantic, 
complained  to  us,  after  a  few  weeks'  residence  in  Boston, 
that  he  could  discover  nothing  characteristic  or  original, 
except  the  eloquence  of  a  well  known  sailors'  preacher. 
He  could  scarcely  realize  that  he  was  not  in  an  English 
provincial  town.  The  stranger's  disappointment  ceased 
at  once  when  he  found  himself  in  the  Far  West.  There 
life  assumed  a  new  aspect,  and  nature  presented  striking 
phases.  He  received  what  he  earnestly  sought — vivid 
and  lasting  impressions.    There  was  a  moral  excitement 


D  E  A  S  . 


203 


awakened  quite  different  from  the  luxurious  dreams  he 
had  known  on  the  shores  of  the  Bosphorus,  the  mental  sti- 
mulus derived  from  the  intellectual  circles  of  London, 
and  the  suggestions  of  art  and  antiquity  in  Italy.  He  saw, 
for  the  first  time,  majestic  rivers  flowing  through  almost 
interminable  woods  ;  seas  of  verdure  decked  with  bright 
and  nameless  flowers ;  huge  cliffs  covered  with  gorgeous 
autumnal  drapery,  and  resembling  the  ruined  castles  he 
had  beheld  in  northern  Europe.  Nor  was  this  new  expe- 
rience confined  to  the  externally  picturesque.  He  be- 
came acquainted  with  the  hunter  and  the  Indian.  The 
guest  of  a  frontier  garrison,  he  heard  the  cry  of  wolves, 
while  sharing  the  refined  hospitality  of  the  drawing- 
room  ;  and  often  passed  from  the  intelligent  companion, 
ship  of  an  accomplished  officer  to  the  lodge  of  an  abori- 
ginal chief.  He  witnessed  the  grave  bearing  of  a  forest- 
king  and  the  infernal  orgies  of  a  whole  intoxicated  tribe. 
The  venerable  sachem,  the  graceful  squaw,  the  lithe 
young  warrior ;  the  war  chant,  the  council  fire  and  the 
hunter's  camp,  furnished  ample  materials  to  his  senses 
and  imagination. 

It  is  somewhat  remarkable  that  a  field  so  peculiar  to 
our  country  has  not  been  more  ardently  explored  by  na- 
tive artists  and  authors.  There  is  nothing  in  the  life  of 
our  cities  which  may  be  deemed  original.  Their  compa- 
rative youth  renders  them  far  less  suggestive  than  those 
of  Europe,  where  a  greater  variety  of  elements,  and 
a  more  intense  social  being  create  ever  new  sources  of 
inspiration.    We  are  educated  under  the  same  influences 


204 


ARTIST- LIFE. 


as  our  English  progenitors.  Their  poets  and  philosophers 
are  ours  also,  and  have  their  prototypes  among  us.  In 
fact,  the  general  culture  is  the  sanie,  and  it  is  in  our 
border  life  alone  that  we  can  find  the  naaterials  for  na- 
tional development,  as  far  as  literature  and  art  are  con- 
cerned. Yet  the  greater  part  of  what  has  yet  been  done 
in  America  in  the  way  of  writing  and  painting,  echoes 
the  past,  instead  of  representing  a  new  present  or  foresha- 
dowing a  great  future.  We  are  not  advocating  original- 
ity as  alone  desirable ;  on  the  contrary,  a  good  poem  in 
the  style  of  Pope,  a  fine  essay  in  the  diction  of  Addison, 
or  a  portrait  after  the  manner  of  Sir  Joshua,  for  us  have 
each  their  intrinsic  interest,  wherever  produced.  We  can 
see  no  reason  to  complain  of  our  artists  and  writers,  if 
the  scenes  or  the  sentiments  they  illustrate  have  no  pecu- 
liar "  native  American"  zest,  provided  they  are  in  them- 
selves noble  and  lovely.  There  is,  indeed,  no  little  cant 
prevailing  on  this  subject,  and  it  is  absurd  to  expect  from 
a  mind  educated  in  one  of  our  northern  cities,  any  other 
than  a  Saxon  development.  Greater  freedom  of  thought, 
a  bolder  reach  of  speculation  should,  indeed,  distinguish 
men  of  talent  in  a  republic ;  and  there  are  a  few  local 
traits  of  climate  and  scenery  which  our  poets  should 
chronicle ;  but,  as  a  general  rule,  our  tastes  are  formed 
on  the  same  models  as  those  of  England,  and  our  men- 
tal characteristics  are  identical  with  the  race  whence 
we  sprung.  It  is  with  reference  to  the  frequent  com- 
plaints of  the  want  of  transatlantic  appreciation,  that 
we  allude  to  this  question.    It  is  unreasonable  to  expect 


D  E  A  S  . 


205 


that  any  great  interest  will  be  excited  abroad  in  the  fruits 
either  of  the  pen  or  pencil  here,  except  so  far  as  the  sub- 
jects are  novel,  or  the  execution  superlatively  great. 
Tales  of  frontier  and  Indian  life — philosophic  views  of 
our  institutions — the  adventures  of  the  hunter  and  the 
emigrant — correct  pictures  of  what  is  truly  remarkable 
in  our  scenery,  awaken  instant  attention  in  Europe.  If 
our  artists  or  authors,  therefore,  wish  to  earn  trophies 
abroad,  let  them  seize  upon  themes  essentially  American. 
The  young  artist  named  at  the  head  of  this  paper  has 
acted  on  this  principle.  Those  who  are  accustomed  to 
look  occasionally  into  the  rooms  of  the  Art  Union  in 
New- York,  cannot  fail  to  have  seen  from  time  to  time, 
very  spirited  representations  of  Indian  or  hunter  life. 
There  is  a  wildness  and  picturesque  truth  about  many  of 
these  specimens,  in  remarkable  contrast  to  the  more 
formal  and  hackneyed  subjects  around  them.  We  re- 
member one,  in  particular,  of  an  Indian  maiden  standing 
on  a  rock,  and  gazing  forth  upon  an  immense  prairie,  her 
figure  relieved  against  the  evening  sky,  and  her  whole 
air  full  of  the  poetry  of  grief.  One  could  have  surmised 
the  tale  at  once.  She  had  been  abandoned  by  her  lover, 
and  was  about  to  cast  herself  from  that  precipice.  There 
she  stood  alone,  calm  and  voiceless,  watching  the  sun  go 
down — as  she  had  often  done  beside  the  faithless  object 
of  her  devotion.  Another  represented  a  Pawnee  gallop- 
ing on  an  unshorn  and  unbridled  horse  across  the 
prairie.  Its  authenticity  was  self-evident,  and  every 
thing  about  the  rider  and  his  steed  in  perfect  keeping. 


206 


ARTIST-LIFE. 


The  maternal  grandfather  of  Charles  Deas  was 
Ralph  Izard,  whose  recently-published  correspondence 
honorably  identifies  him  with  our  Revolutionary  history. 
His  promising  descendant  was  born  in  Philadelphia  in 
1818,  and  received  his  education  from  the  lamented  John 
Sanderson.  His  first  ideas  of  art  were  derived  from 
some  good  copies  of  the  old  masters  belonging  to  his 
family,  and  from  a  habit  acquired  very  early,  of  divert- 
ing himself  by  drawing  at  school  on  a  slate,  and  model- 
ing little  horses  in  beeswax  at  home.  He  possessed 
great  sensibility  to  color.  According  to  phrenologists, 
this  depends  upon  organization,  and  facts  warrant  the 
inference.  A  striking  difference  is  observable  in  indi- 
viduals, both  in  regard  to  the  correctness  of  their  natural 
perceptions,  and  the  feeling  they  have  in  this  regard. 
The  remark  of  a  blind  man  when  asked  his  idea  of  scar- 
let, that  it  was  like  the  sound  of  a  trumpet,  is  well 
known,  and  indicates  how  much  reality  there  is  in  such 
impressions.  It  was  one  of  the  earliest  delights  of  Deas 
to  note  the  mysteries  of  color,  and  trace  the  manner  in 
which  the  brilliancy  of  one  is  heightened  by  the  gravity 
of  another.  To  one  who  has  the  soul  of  a  painter,  the 
effects  of  light  and  shade  are  a  world  in  which  it  is  as 
pleasant  for  him  to  expatiate  as  for  a  soldier  in  military 
tactics  or  a  bard  in  the  intricacies  of  the  heart.  Visits 
to  the  old  Pennsylvania  Academy,  to  Sully's  rooms,  and 
loiterings  on  holiday  afternoons  before  the  print-shop 
windows  in  Chesnut-street ;  drawings  from  casts  of  the 
antique,  and  experiments  in  portraying  his  playmates, 


D  E  A  S  . 


207 


were  among  the  significant  tendencies  of  our  painter's 
boyhood.  His  views,  however,  from  the  first,  were  di- 
rected with  enthusiasm  towards  a  military  life,  and  upon 
leaving  school  he  went  to  live  on  the  Hudson,  and  pre- 
pared himself  to  enter  the  Military  Academy  there  sit- 
uated. Meantime,  however,  his  leisure  was  wholly  given 
to  exploring  expeditions  amid  the  beautiful  scenery  by 
which  he  was  surrounded.  His  constitution  thus  became 
inured  to  fatigue,  his  eye  practiced  in  the  observation  of 
nature,  and  his  dormant  artistic  propensities  fostered  into 
new  vigor.  He  was  a  zealous  sportsman,  and  found  his 
purest  enjoyment  when  wandering  equipped  with  gun, 
fishing-rod,  and  sketch-book.  This  independent  existence 
alternating  with  periods  of  secluded  application,  was 
finely  adapted  to  harmonize  his  character.  Having 
failed  in  obtaining  an  appointment  as  a  cadet,  he  imme- 
diately turned  his  whole  attention  to  the  art  of  painting, 
and  sought  to  enlarge  and  deepen  his  scenic  impressions 
by  a  tour  to  the  head  waters  of  the  Delaware  and  through 
the  magnificent  scenery  of  the  White  Hills.  A  year  or 
two  were  then  given  to  the  study  of  his  profession,  under 
the  auspices  of  the  National  Academy,  and  to  improving 
fellowship  with  other  artists.  The  era  of  manhood 
brought  with  it  a  revelation  to  the  moral  nature  of  the 
student,  and  he  learned  to  recognize  the  authority  of  the  . 
higher  sentiments.  His  first  successful  picture  illustrated 
a  frequent  local  scene,  familiar  to  the  denizens  of  the 
Hudson.  It  was  called  the  "  Turkey  Shoot,''  and  was 
so  graphically  delineated  as  at  once  to  hit  the  fancy  of  a 


208 


ARTIST-LIFE. 


genuine  Knickerbocker  whose  ancestors  were  among  the 
early  colonists,  who  became  its  purchaser.  The  next 
year  he  exhibited  a  variety  of  cabinet  pictures,  drawn 
chiefly  from  familiar  life,  which  met  with  more  or  less 
success.  "  Hudibras  engaging  the  bear-baiters,"  "  Walk- 
ing the  Chalk,"  "  Shoeing  a  horse  by  lamplight,"  &c., 
were  among  the  subjects. 

With  the  tastes  and  habits  we  have  described,  it  is 
not  difficult  to  fancy  the  effect  produced  upon  the  mind 
of  Deas  by  the  sight  of  Catlin's  Indian  Gallery.  Here 
was  a  result  of  art,  not  drawn  merely  from  academic 
practice  or  the  lonely  vigils  of  a  studio,  but  gathered 
amid  the  freedom  of  nature.  Here  were  trophies  as  elo- 
quent of  adventure  as  of  skill,  environed  with  the  most 
national  associations,  and  memorials  of  a  race  fast  dwin- 
dling from  the  earth.  With  what  interest  would  after- 
generations  look  upon  these  portraits,  and  how  attractive 
to  European  eyes  would  be  such  authentic  counterfeit 
presentments"  of  a  savage  people,  about  whose  history 
romance  and  tradition  alike  throw  their  spells  !  To  visit 
the  scenes  whence  Catlin  drew  these  unique  specimens 
of  art,  to  study  the  picturesque  forms,  costumes,  attitudes, 
and  grouping  of  Nature's  own  children ;  to  share  the 
grateful  repast  of  the  hunter,  and  taste  the  wild  excite- 
ment of  frontier  life,  in  the  very  heart  of  the  noblest 
scenery  of  the  land,  was  a  prospect  calculated  to  stir  the 
blood  of  one  with  a  true  sense  of  the  beautiful,  and  a 
natural  relish  for  woodcraft  and  sporting.  A  brother  of 
the  artist  was  attached  to  the  fifth  infantry,  then  stationed 


DBAS. 


209 


at  Fort  Crawford,  and  in  the  spring  of  1840  he  left  New- 
York  for  that  distant  port.  By  the  lake  route  he  reached 
Mackinaw — one  of  the  most  romantic  spots  in  the  country 
— and  here  for  the  first  time  he  saw  genuine  sons  of  the 
wilderness,  many  of  the  Chippewa  tribe  being  encamped 
on  the  beach.  He  thence  proceeded  to  Green  Bay, 
through  the  interior  of  Wisconsin,  by  Fort  Winnebago 
and  Fox  Lake,  to  his  destination  at  Prairie  du  Chien. 
Besides  a  happy  meeting  with  his  brother,  he  was  cor- 
dially received  here  by  his  messmates.  General  Brooke 
was  at  that  time  commanding  in  the  northwest,  and 
through  his  influence  and  that  of  the  gentlemen  connected 
with  the  Fur  companies,  he  was  enabled  to  collect  sketches 
of  Indians,  frontier  scenery,  and  subjects  of  agreeable 
reminiscence  and  picturesque  incident,  enough  to  afford 
material  for  a  life's  painting.  Keokuk,  the  great  chief 
and  orator  of  the  Sacs  and  Foxes,  was  at  Fort  Crawford 
holding  a  council  with  the  Winnebagoes.  The  assem- 
blage and  their  proceedings  were  very  imposing.  The 
Sacs  were  endeavoring  to  cover  the  blood  "  of  a  young 
man  of  the  other  tribe  who  had  been  tilled  some  time 
previously.  They  tendered  a  considerable  sum  of  money, 
which  was  at  last  accepted  by  the  opposite  party.  The 
Sacs  and  Foxes  were  living  in  tents  allowed  them  from 
the  fort,  in  an  enclosure  attached  to  the  palisades.  A 
relative  of  the  deceased  object  of  the  conclave,  wishing 
to  insult  Keokuk,  took  advantage  of  the  absence  of  most 
of  the  party,  to  crawl  up  under  the  shelter  of  a  fence  in 
the  rear  of  his  tent  vvhere  he  was  seated  in  state.  The 

10* 


210 


ARTIST-LIFE. 


costume  of  the  venerable  chief  was  superb,  a  tiara  of 
panther  and  raven  skin  adorning  his  head.  The  in- 
truding Winnebago  quietly  lifted  the  canvas  of  the  tent, 
and  suddenly  tearing  this  gear  from  the  old  man's  person 
and  scattering  it  over  the  mats,  retreated  as  he  came,  be- 
fore the  sentry  could  arrest  him.  This  insult  to  their 
leader  produced  many  serio-comic  scenes,  and  gave  Deas 
a  fine  opportunity  to  observe  the  expression  of  Indian 
character.  Keokuk  maintained  a  dignified  silence,  but 
the  gloomy  light  of  his  eye  betokened  how  keenly  he  feit 
the  mortification.  His  enraged  spouse  was  by  no  means 
so  calm.  Her  imprecations  caused  an  outcry  which 
called  out  the  officer  of  the  day,  and  it  was  long  before 
the  storm  was  quelled.  The  scene  afforded  striking  pic- 
tures of  Indian  character.  The  new  post  of  Fort  Atkin- 
son, fifty  miles  west  of  Crawford,  was  also  visited.  The 
picturesque  appearance  of  the  cabins  and  tents,  the  novel 
mode  of  life  in  the  open  air,  the  excellence  of  the  grouse- 
shooting  on  the  route,  the  success  of  which  was  enhanced 
by  the  perfect  training  of  the  pointers,  rendered  the  trip 
delightful,  and  furnished  some  camp  incidents  for  the 
sketch-book.  After  his  return  to  the  "  Prairie,"  a  com- 
mand was  sent  to  the  "  Painted  Rock  "  to  attend  a  pay- 
ment of  the  Winnebagoes.  Here  the  artist  saw  the 
natives  to  advantage  in  their  every-day  life.  Every  mo- 
ment of  the  excursion  was  replete  with  interest.  The 
party  ascended  the  river  in  a  Mackinaw  boat.  Several 
Indians  were  allowed  to  come  on  board,  one  of  whom  is 
quite  a  character,  known  by  the  sobriquet  of  "  Two 


DBAS, 


211 


Shillings,"  which  he  obtained  by  his  adroitness  in  pro- 
curing quarters  of  dollars  from  visitors  at  Washington, 
while  there  on  a  deputation.  The  scenes  witnessed  at 
this  payment  would  require  a  volume  to  do  them  justice. 
Sickness  in  all  its  stages  was  there,  from  the  first  listless- 
ness  of  ague  to  the  raging  madness  of  high  fever.  All 
were  attacked,  from  the  mother  with  her  first-born  to  the 
aged  crone,  from  the  venerable  sachem  to  the  young 
warrior.  In  passing  from  lodge  to  .lodge,  the  most  ex- 
traordinary incidents  presented  themselves ;  and  in  the 
stillness  of  the  moonlit  nights,  the  echoes  of  the  Indian 
lover's  flute  blent  with  the  battle  chant  or  the  maiden's 
shrill  song. 

On  another  occasion,  Deas  left  the  hospitable  walls 
of  Fort  Crawford  to  accompany  an  expedition  into  the 
interior  of  Iowa,  and  penetrated  the  country  as  far  as 
the  east  branch  of  the  Des  Moines  river.  While  absent, 
besides  enjoying  fine  sport,  he  enriched  his  portfolio,  and 
thus  ended  with  renewed  gratification  his  first  summer 
in  the  West.  Prairie  du  Chien,  at  this  period,  was  al- 
most a  French  village,  and  the  lively  manners  of  the 
inhabitants,  their  races  and  other  out-of-door  amusements, 
during  the  fine  autumn  weather,  afforded  new  subjects 
of  observation.  The  groups  of  half-breeds,  Indians,  and 
voyageurs,  always  to  be  found  about  the  trading  houses 
and  fur  depots,  realized  all  that  an  artist  needs  in  the 
way  of  frontier  costume  and  manners.  In  the  winter  of 
1840-41,  he  visited  Fort  Winnebago,  went  down  on  the 
ice  to  Rock  river,  and  returned  to  paint  the  likenesses  of 


212 


A  R  T  I  S  T-L  I  F  E  . 


the  prominent  members  of  the  tribe.  He  again  visited 
the  new  post,  the  surgeon's  room  being  his  studio.  The 
ensuing  summer  he  made  a  tour  to  Fort  Snelling  and 
the  upper  Mississippi — painted  a  view  of  St.  Anthony's 
Falls,  and  several  of  the  fine-looking  Sioux  in  the  vi- 
cinity. The  latter  enterprise  was  attended  with  some 
difficulty.  The  Indians,  believing  that  the  governor  had 
sent  a  medicine  man  "  to  carry  away  a  portion  of  their 
visible  bodies  with  a  view  to  the  utter  destruction  of  the 
tribe,  refused  to  sit.  Tommah,  a  great  conjurer,  was  at 
last  induced  to  submit  to  the  ordeal  after  much  persua- 
sion, and  the  others  soon  followed  his  example.  Deas 
remained  a  week  or  two  on  a  beautiful  sloping  prairie, 
dotted  with  the  conical  lodges  of  the  race  of  Indians  who 
make  such  regions  their  home.  Here  he  saw  some  ad- 
mirable specimens  of  the  human  form,  and  witnessed  the 
celebrated  ball-play  in  its  perfection,  each  man  appearing 
in  a  gala  dress  and  painted  from  head  to  foot.  There 
were  also  dog  feasts,  rice  feasts,  dances,  songs,  and  reci- 
tations by  the  old  men  of  their  principal  exploits  in  war. 
The  occasion  was  the  ratification  of  a  treaty,  and 
called  out  all  the  display  of  which  the  Indians  were  ca- 
pable. At  a  subsequent  period,  our  artist  joined  the 
command  under  Major  Wharton,  ordered  to  proceed  from 
Fort  Leavenworth  to  the  Pawnee  villages  on  the  Platte 
river. 

It  will  be  seen  from  what  has  preceded,  what  extensive 
opportunities  he  has  enjoyed  in  the  sphere  which  he  has 
chosen  for  the  exercise  of  his  talents.    If  it  be  true,  as 


DBAS. 


213 


is  maintained  by  many  advocates,  that  Nature  is  the  best 
guide,  and  that  the  poet  and  the  painter  are  most  suc- 
cessful who  throw  themselves  heartily  into  her  embrace, 
who  are  jealous  of  the  encroachments  of  authority,  and 
seek  mainly  to  reproduce  what  they  see  and  feel,  inde- 
pendent of  the  dictation  of  schools  and  public  opinion, 
we  may  justly  look  for  some  rich  and  peculiar  results 
from  the  youthful  experience  of  this  artist.  He  is  now 
established  at  St.  Louis,  and  it  is  gratifying  to  add,  from 
his  own  testimony,  that  he  has  there  found  all  that  a 
painter  can  desire  in  the  patronage  of  friends  and  general 
sympathy  and  appreciation.  Among  the  subjects  which 
have  recently  occupied  him  are  Long  Jake,'*  designed 
to  embody  the  character  of  the  mountain  hunter  ;  the 
"  Indian  Guide,"  whose  prototype  was  a  venerable 
Shawnee  who  accompanied  Major  Wharton ;  "  The 
Wounded  Pawnee  "  The  Voyageur,"  The  Trapper," 
two  illustrations  from  the  history  of  "Wenona;"  A 
Group  of  Sioux,"  and  "  Hunters  on  the  Prairie."  The 
most  important  epic  subject  which  has  engaged  his  atten- 
tion is  taken  from  the  life  of  General  Clarke,  of  Ken- 
tucky ;  it  is  the  meeting  of  the  council  of  the  Shawnees 
at  North  Bend,  when  by  his  firmness  he  saved  the 
frontier  from  the  horrors  of  an  Indian  war.  There  is 
now  on  his  easel  a  picture  entitled  "  The  Last  Shot," 
founded  on  an  incident  which  occurred  immediately 
after  the  late  battle  of  Rio  Grande — the  parties  being 
Captain  Walker  and  a  Ranchero.    Art,  it  will  be  seen, 


214 


ARTIST-LIFE . 


is  not  without  its  representatives  in  the  Far- West;  and 
diverse  as  is  the  school  from  those  of  Europe,  it  has 
its  own  permanent  interest,  and  one  which,  we  trust, 
will  be  more  and  more  worthily  recognized  and  illus- 
trated. 


FL AGG. 


To  an  observant  eye  the  metropolis  of  New-York  is 
an  epitome  of  the  Old  World.  One  can  there  discover 
some  hint  or  vestige,  some  emblem  of  all  the  nations  of 
the  earth.  When  we  hear  a  returned  traveller  sigh  for 
Europe,  we  lament  that  his  imagination  is  so  inactive ; 
for  were  it  otherwise,  he  would  find  in  his  daily 
walks  objects  to  rouse  the  dormant  associations  of  his 
pilgrimage,  and  transport  him  in  fancy  to  the  scenes  he 
regrets.  Herein  have  the  poet  and  artist  their  advantage. 
In  that  grand  fable  of  the  division  of  the  earth,  after  Ju- 
piter had  given  his  share  to  each  applicant,  the  bard 
came  forward,  and  there  was  no  alternative  but  to  assign 
him  the  freedom  of  the  whole  universe.  If  fortune  was 
denied,  all  nature  became  tributary  to  his  soul.  Hence 
one  of  the  race  complacently  exclaims,  as  it  were  in  the 
very  face  of  the  world — "  You  cannot  shut  the  windows 
of  the  sky !"  and  seems  quite  content  that  it  is  permitted 
him  to  look  through  them.  We  fell  into  this  train  of 
musing  after  leaving  Flagg's  room,  one  clear,  warm  day 
last  autumn.  He  was  just  putting  the  finishing  touches  to 


216 


ARTIST -  LIFE. 


a  picture  which  took  our  eyes  and  heart  at  once,  and  the 
impression  lingered  very  sweetly  for  hours  after.  This, 
by  the  way,  is  no  inadequate  test  of  the  life  in  a  work  of 
art,  though  not  of  its  abstract  merit.  We  once  heard  a 
celebrated  poet  say  that  memory  was  the  best  crucible  in 
which  to  assay  verse.  Whatever  possessed  any  of  the 
divine  afflatus,  he  declared,  knit  itself  into  the  web  of  his 
reminiscences,  so  that  a  really  fine  bit  of  rhyme  became 
a  part  of  his  intellectual  vitality,  and  rose  and  fell  on  the 
tide  of  reflection  like  a  water-lily,  sometimes  o'ersha- 
dowed  by  a  cloud  of  care  or  drooping  in  the  heat  of  daily 
strife,  but,  ever  and  anon,  raising  and  opening  its  pure  and 
fragrant  leaves  to  refresh  his  vacant  mood.  The  subject 
of  Flagg's  picture  was  quite  familiar  to  all  who  daily 
pass  along  Broadway,  and  yet  to  him  only  did  it  offer 
itself  in  a  picturesque  and  suggestive  light — as  a  thing  to 
rescue  from  the  crowd  and  embody  in  outline  and  colour, 
and  light  and  shade,  and  so  enshrine  as  a  type  of  the  beau- 
tiful, a  fragment  of  life  the  contemplation  of  which  might 
touch  the  chords  of  feeling,  and  make  audible  some  latent 
strain  of  melancholy  sweetness.  It  was  the  "  Mouse 
Boy,"  that  little  brown  varlet  who  begs  for  pennies  and 
shows  his  white  mice,  which  he  carries  about  in  a  small 
box  strapped  to  his  neck.  A  juvenile  countryman  of  the 
discoverer  of  this  continent  demurely  vagabondizing  in 
its  principal  city,  assuredly  savors  of  the  romantic ;  but 
Flagg  enriched  his  model  by  deepening  the  eyes  with 
Italian  sensibility,  and  casting  into  the  attitude  and  over 
the  face  that  winsome  and  beaming  tranquillity — that 


F  L  A  G  G  . 


217 


dolcefar  nienie,  so  southern,  so  infectious — the  luxurious 
repose  upon  one's  own  sensations,  to  be  felt  rather  than 
seen,  as  if  the  balmly  sunshine  of  his  native  Genoa  lay 
soft  around  the  indolent  urchin,  and  the  blue  Mediterra- 
nean was  spreading  to  cradle  the  azure  reflected  from 
above,  before  his  enamored  gaze  !  There  is  an  admirable 
simplicity  in  the  design.  The  boy  is  seated  upon  a  rock, 
his  box  upon  his  knee,  and  the  left  elbow  very  naturally 
resting  on  its  lid,  while  over  the  back  of  the  outstretched 
hand  the  mouse  runs  playfully  along.  The  tone  of  the 
coloring  is  very  harmonious,  the  position  altogether  grace- 
ful and  easy,  and  the  impression  of  the  picture  at  once 
natural  and  pleasing.  There  is  a  class  of  subjects  be- 
tween the  high  ideal  and  the  homely  true,  where  the  sim- 
plicity of  mere  nature  is  a  kind  of  basis  for  sentiment, 
which  are  admirably  calculated  to  enlist  universal  sym- 
pathy. The  effect  of  such  painting  upon  the  mind  is 
something  like  that  of  the  poetry  of  Burns.  Jeannie 
Deans  and  the  heroine  of  the  Promessi  Sposi  are  charac- 
ters which  assimilate  to  the  range  of  which  we  speak,  in 
fiction.  Murillo  finely  represents  it  in  art.  If  we  look 
upon  one  of  his  Madonnas — not  as  a  Holy  Family,  but 
only  as  a  mother  and  her  child — their  exquisite  nature  is 
enchanting,  although  as  poetical  or  religious  conceptions 
they  disappoint ;  but  there  is  a  genuine  humanity,  a  real 
natural  beauty  about  them  which  excites  love  in  the  same 
proportion  that  more  elevated  compositions  awaken  vene- 
ration. This  picture  of  Flagg's  belongs  essentially  to 
the  same  school.    It  aptly  combines  nature  with  senti- 


218 


ARTIST- LIFE. 


ment,  and  thus  gives  a  true  glimpse  of  what  may  be  call- 
ed the  poetry  of  humble  life.  It  is  evident  that  this 
artist  excels  in  subjects  like  these.  We  hope  he  will 
devote  himself  more  earnestly  to  them.  The  picture 
which  gained  him  the  most  reputation  abroad  was  of  a 
similar  description — the  "  Match  Girl."  It  was  just  the 
thing  which  the  countrymen  of  Gainsborough  could  in- 
stantly appreciate.  Let  Flagg  work  at  this  vein  faithfully, 
and  the  result  cannot  be  otherwise  than  highly  satisfac- 
tory. He  has  proved  in  the  picture  we  have  noticed,  that 
he  can  at  happy  moments  throw  aside  the  dry  style  of 
color  to  which  he  was  formerly  addicted,  and  emancipate 
himself  from  the  trammels  of  imitation.  He  has  labored 
under  the  disadvantage  of  having  been  a  prodigy,  for  as 
a  boy-painter  he  was  the  pet  of  the  Bostonians,  after  a 
surfeit  of  injudicious  though  very  natural  admiration  at 
the  south,  where  his  juvenile  portrait  of  Bishop  England 
excited  no  little  wonder.  As  was  to  be  expected,  the 
youth  soon  began  to  work  under  the  influence  of  love  of 
approbation  too  exclusively  to  effect  any  thing  genuine. 
Fortunately  he  soon  became  a  pupil  of  his  uncle,  Wash- 
ington Allston,  and  enjoyed  the  inestimable  privilege  of 
that  master's  example  and  affectionate  instructions  for  two 
three  years.  He  was  by  his  side  when  he  painted  "  Spa- 
latro  and  Schedoni,"  and  used  to  watch  him  as  he  started 
back  from  the  canvas  and  threw  himself  into  the  attitude 
of  the  figure  he  was  designing — which  was  his  constant 
habit,  and  a  fine  illustration  of  nervous  sympathy — the 
engagement  of  the  whole  man,  body  and  soul,  in  his  work. 


F  L  A  G  G  . 


219 


At  the  same  period  he  pamted  "  Rosalie,"  and  Flagg  is  a 
witness  to  the  fact  that  the  inimitable  head  of  that  sweet 
creation  was  finished,  contrary  altogether  to  Allston's 
usual  practice,  in  three  hours. 

The  designs  of  Flaxman  first  revealed  to  Flagg  the 
necessity  of  study,  and  the  conversation  of  his  gifted 
relative  gradually  opened  to  his  view  the  immense  trea- 
sures and  far-reaching  agencies  of  his  profession.  He 
frequently  accompanied  Allston  in  his  walks,  and  the 
latter  availed  himself  of  every  note-worthy  object  and 
impressive  incident  to  urge  some  high  or  touching  lesson. 
Especially  did  he  endeavor  to  bring  home  to  the  feelings 
of  his  pupil  the  religious  tendencies  of  Art,  and  to  make 
him  realize  the  need  of  aspiration,  as  an  element  of  all 
greatness  and  exalted  success.  He  stayed  his  inconsider- 
ate criticisms,  and  on  one  occasion,  wrote  a  beautiful 
little  poem,  expressly  to  charge  his  nephew's  memory 
with  the  result  of  his  own  experience — that  mere  pleasure 
sought  for  its  own  sake,  was  thoroughly  unsatisfactory  to 
an  elevated  mind.  He  described  to  him,  when  the 
labors  of  the  day  were  over,  the  characters  of  the 
interesting  men  he  had  met  abroad,  and  portrayed 
to  his  imagination,  as  only  an  artist  can,  the  beauti- 
ful women  he  had  seen.  Such  was  the  education  of 
Flagg,  a  rare  and  enviable  one,  considering  its  supe- 
riority to  that  which  ordinarily  attends  the  early  life  of 
our  painters.  Among  the  efforts  of  his  novitiate,  still  re- 
membered, are  "  A  boy  listening  to  a  Ghost  story  from 
the  lips  of  a  Hag,"  and  a  young  Greek.    At  length  he 


220 


ARTIST-LIFE. 


produced  "  Jacob  and  Rachel  at  the  Well,"  which  evinced 
such  merit  that  Allston  said,  "  Now  you  may  consider 
yourself  an  artist."  A  full  length  of  a  boy,  exhibited  at 
New-York,  caused  him  to  be  elected  an  honorary  member 
of  the  Nationar  Academy ;  and  a  cabinet  portrait  of 
Madame  Pico,  in  the  character  of  Cenerentola,  with  Ven- 
etian architecture  in  the  back-ground,  won  him  favorable 
notice  during  the  late  successful  operatic  season.  A  pic- 
ture of  the  "  Murder  of  the  Princes,"  from  Richard  III., 
had  before  procured  him  the  liberal  support  of  Laman 
Read,  through  whose  assistance  he  visited  Europe,  and 
gave  three  years  to  intercourse  with  artists  and  the  study 
of  the  best  works  abroad.  Flagg  has  suffered  from  ill 
health,  and  his  efforts  have  been  unequal,  and  often  wholly 
subservient  to  temporary  necessities.  In  view,  however, 
of  the  remarkable  advantages  he  has  enjoyed,  and  that 
maturity  which  only  experience  can  bring,  we  cannot 
but  look  upon  the  happier  specimens  of  his  ability  to 
which  we  have  referred,  as  pledges  of  yet  more  consist- 
ent exertions,  such  as  will  amply  vindicate  the  promise 
of  his  boyhood  and  the  fame  of  his  lineage. 


G.  L.  BROWN, 


Among  the  safety-valves  of  youthful  enthusiasm,  in 
regard  to  which  almost  every  man  of  ardent  fancy  boasts 
agreeable  reminiscences,  is  the  dramatic  mania.  In  lite- 
rary cities,  like  Edinburgh  and  Boston,  where  the  animal 
spirits  incident  to  early  life  are  prone  to  exhaust  them- 
selves on  intellectual  objects,  dramatic  clubs  once  formed 
a  great  resource  to  schoolboys,  collegians,  and  apprentices. 
Popular  lectures  and  mercantile  associations  have  now 
given  a  different  and  more  desirable  turn  to  aspirations 
of  this  nature  ;  but  the  widely-acknowledged  talent  of  one 
of  our  best  landscape  painters  received  its  first  decided 
impulse  at  one  of  these  juvenile  fraternities.  He  had  en- 
tered into  the  objects  of  the  club  with  all  the  cordiality 
and  singleness  of  purpose  which  belong  to  artistic  organ- 
izations. It  was  not,  however,  the  illusions  of  the  stage 
that  attracted  him,  but  the  field  thus  opened  for  gratify- 
ing an  instinctive  love  of  those  combinations,  laws,  and 
effects  which  are  understood  by  the  term  Art.  He  was 
found  to  be  a  most  serviceable  ally,  with  an  extraordinary 
aptitude  and  unlimited  will,  being  equally  efficient  and 


222 


ARTIST-LIFE. 


cheerful  whether  enacting  Julius  Csesar,  manufacturing 
thunder,  or  painting  a  scene.  The  latter  occupation,  how- 
ever, proved  by  far  the  most  interesting,  and  the  idea  of 
being  destined  for  a  painter  first  broke  like  sunshine  upon 
his  mind,  amid  the  loud  plaudits  of  his  comrades  at  the 
appearance  of  the  long-expected  and — in  their  view — mi- 
raculous drop.  "  As  if  it  were  by  libraries,  academies," 
exclaims  Carlyle,  the  dead  force  of  other  men,  that  the 
living  force  of  a  new  man  is  to  be  brought  forth  into  vic- 
torious clearness  !"  He  alludes  to  the  triumphs  of  genius 
over  circumstance  in  the  instance  of  Burns,  or  rather 
to  the  divine  capacity  of  genius  to  elicit  its  own  educa- 
tion from  life,  however  unpropitious.  This  anecdote  of 
Brown's  youth  illustrates  how  slight  and  accidental  are 
the  events  which  awaken  boundless  intimations  in  gifted 
minds.  The  design  was  no  sooner  conceived  than  every 
hour's  reflection  confirmed  his  purpose.  He  thought  with 
satisfaction  upon  the  habits  acquired  too  early  for  their 
date  to  be  traced,  and  of  which  he  all  at  once  became  for 
the  first  time  conscious — of  drawing,  upon  slates  and  pa- 
per, objects  and  incidents  that  caught  his  attention,  and 
especially  a  certain  vague  delight  he  had  ever  taken  in 
the  tints  of  costume,  vegetation,  and  skies.  These  facts 
of  consciousness  assured  him  that  he  did  not  err  in  believ- 
ing that  his  permanent  satisfaction  was  to  be  sought  in 
artist-life.  The  only  available  method  of  commencing 
his  enterprise  that  presented  itself  was  that  of  offering  his 
services  to  a  wood-engraver.  It  was  requisite  that  he 
should  quiet  the  protests  of  his  relatives  against  what  they 


G  .     L  .  BROWN. 


223 


considered  his  perverse  indifference  to  several  eligible 
schemes  by  which  his  respectable  subsistence  would  be 
made  certain,  by  uniting  with  the  study  of  art  a  lucrative 
employment.  At  this  time  a  demand  for  illustrated  books, 
especially  those  intended  for  children  and  popular  use, 
had  manifested  itself,  and  several  of  the  Boston  publishers 
had  issued  favorable  specimens.  To  these  gentlemen, 
after  a  year's  apprenticeship  to  an  engraver  on  wood, 
young  Brown  applied  for  employment.  His  labors  ap- 
pear to  have  given  much  more  satisfaction  to  his  patrons 
than  to  himself,  but  he  sought  alleviation  from  the  mono- 
tony of  his  workshop  by  excursions  into  the  country,  and 
haunting  every  studio  where  he  could  obtain  admittance, 
and  finally  by  experiments  in  oil.  His  first  complete 
essay  of  the  latter  kind  was  executed  in  the  room  of  a 
portrait-painter  who  had  won  some  influential  friends 
among  the  lovers  of  the  arts.  It  here  arrested  the  eye  of 
a  gentleman,  who  was  struck  with  a  certain  boldness  and 
feeling  it  displayed,  notwithstanding  very  obvious  indica- 
tions of  want  of  practice.  His  interest  was  greatly  in- 
creased when  assured  that  it  was  a  first  attempt.  He  at 
once  purchased  the  landscape,  and  sought  an  introduction 
to  the  painter,  whose  views  he  professed  himself  heartily 
disposed  to  promote.  Brown's  wishes  were  then  confined 
to  a  visit  to  Europe.  Without  experience,  full  of  hope, 
and  quite  uninformed  as  to  the  actual  demands  of  life  and 
of  art,  he  cherished  vague  but  delightful  ideas  of  artist- 
life  in  the  Old  World.  As  the  poor  son  of  Erin  expected 
to  tread  upon  dollars  the  moment  his  foot  touched  Amer- 


224 


ARTIST-LIFE. 


ican  soil,  our  deluded  painter  fondly  deemed  that  in  the 
land  of  Raphael,  or  Rubens,  recognition  and  success 
awaited  but  his  presence.  To  understand  the  extent  of 
this  feeling,  and  the  dreamy  basis  of  his  buoyant  expec- 
tations, it  is  enough  to  say  that  when  asked  what  sum 
would  enable  him  to  execute  his  project,  he  instantly 
named  one  hundred  dollars.  The  benevolent  merchant, 
whose  sympathies  had  been  enlisted  alike  by  his  enthusi- 
asm and  his  wants,  stared  a  little  at  this  reply,  and  in- 
quired what  he  proposed  to  do  on  arriving  the  other  side 
of  the  Atlantic.  Be  an  artist,  sir,''  said  Brown,  confi- 
dently. His  friend  gave  him  the  required  sum,  with  an 
ominous  shake  of  the  head  and  his  best  wishes,  and  Brown 
ran,  quite  wild  with  joy,  and  paid  seventy-five  dollars  at 
once,  to  the  captain  of  a  brig  bound  to  Antwerp,  for  his 
passage.  But  a  few  hours  remained  for  the  young  ad- 
venturer to  complete  his  arrangements  and  take  leave  of 
his  friends.  He  did  not  allow  himself  to  suffer  the  dis- 
couraging observations  which  every  one  volunteered,  to 
subdue  his  elation,  or  change  for  an  instant  his  purpose. 
He  felt  that  confidence  which  sometimes  seems  to  be  di- 
vinely imparted,  and  no  distrust  of  the  future  beguiled 
him  from  hopeful  visions.  He  had  labored  for  several  of 
the  freshest  years  of  his  existence  with  scarcely  a  word 
or  look  of  sympathy ;  he  saw  no  promising  ray  in  the  ho- 
rizon about  him  ;  the  objects  and  spirit  of  his  acquaint- 
ance were  alien  to  his  own,  and  he  longed  to  thrust  him- 
self forth  into  the  great  world,  to  escape  from  the  limits 
of  routine,  and  to  cast  off"  the  bonds  of  local  prejudice. 


G  .     L  .     BROWN.  225 

He  had  formed  a  sweet  alliance  with  Nature,  and  there 
was  a  companionship  in  the  works  of  great  artists,  more 
sustaining  than  that  of  ungenial  fellow-beings.  To  such 
influences  he  would  courageously  trust  himself ;  he  be- 
lieved they  would  console  him  for  a  separation  from  kin- 
dred and  country.  Anticipations,  too,  of  a  return  under 
happier  circumstances,  lent  brightness  to  his  musings ; 
and  in  fancy,  he  beheld  himself  welcomed  with  a  respect 
quite  in  contrast  to  the  half-pitiful  God-speed  with  which 
he  had  been  sent  on  his  way.  One  little  scene  attendant 
upon  his  departure  is  too  ludicrous  to  be  omitted.  At  the 
last  moment,  he  discovered  that  it  was  expected  of  each 
passenger  to  provide  his  own  mattrass.  He  went  on  shore 
to  make  the  purchase,  and  being  in  haste,  as  well  as  eco- 
nomically inclined,  followed  the  eastern  custom,  and  car- 
ried his  own  bed.  It  was  towards  dusk  that  thus  burden- 
ed, he  made  his  way  through  the  principal  streets  of  his 
native  city,  encountering  as  he  went  several  members  of 
the  dramatic  club,  of  whom  he  had  taken  leave  in  the 
morning,  and  whose  doubts  of  his  sanity  the  encounter  by 
no  means  lessened.  His  voyage  was  a  period  of  frequent 
and  complete  enjoyment.  The  firmament  and  the  deep 
had  never  been  so  entirely  revealed  to  him,  and  many 
impressions  were  then  unconsciously  obtained  which  have 
subsequently  enriched  his  canvas,  as  at  early  morning, 
sunset,  and  midnight,  he  watched  the  changeful  tints  of 
the  ocean,  or  the  blending  lights  of  the  sky.  From  reve- 
ries like  these,  the  process  of  unlading  the  vessel  all  at 
once  aroused  him.    The  generous  captain  surmised  his 

11 


220 


ARTIST-LIFE. 


lonely  and  destitute  condition,  and  with  great  delicacy- 
tendered  him  what  assistance  he  could.  Now  the  vicis- 
situdes he  had  braved  were  at  length  clearly  perceived. 
He  felt  that  he  was  a  stranger  and  poor,  and  as  he  slowly 
walked  up  from  the  pier,  began  seriously  to  wonder  at 
his  own  improvidence. 

The  few  succeeding  months  of  his  life  would  furnish 
hints  enough  for  a  popular  novelist  to  construct  many  at- 
tractive chapters.  With  his  powers  of  observation  and 
endurance  continually  exercised,  and  his  moments  of  en- 
thusiasm alternating  with  hours  of  keen  anxiety,  he  lin- 
gered in  the  neighborhood  of  Antwerp  until  the  friendly 
captain  sailed.  That  true-hearted  mariner,  who  seemed 
to  the  lonely  painter  to  carry  with  him  the  last  visible 
bond  which  united  him  to  home,  was  his  companion  in  an 
excursion  to  the  field  of  Waterloo,  and  his  pioneer  to 
some  novel  illustrations  of  life  in  the  Lowlands.  Brown 
passed  many  hours  daily  in  the  cathedral — the  first  grand 
specimen  of  religious  architecture  he  had  seen,  and  one 
which  at  his  age,  and  under  the  peculiar  circumstances 
of  his  visit,  made  a  deep  and  lasting  impression.  The 
pictures  of  Ruysdale  also  gave  him  singular  delight,  and 
awakened  a  new  series  of  ideas  in  regard  to  his  art.  He 
could  not,  however,  indulge  these  tastes  with  equanimity, 
while  his  small  resources  were  rapidly  dwindling,  and 
not  the  smallest  chance  of  profitable  occupation  or  hospi- 
tality offered  itself  to  his  now  sobered  imagination.  He  de- 
termined, therefore,  to  embark  at  once  for  London,  and 
arrived  there  almost  penniless.    After  a  few  weeks'  resi- 


G.     L.    BR  OWN. 


227 


dence,  which  he  improved  as  far  as  his  scanty  means 
would  allow,  he  availed  himself  of  the  timely  assistance 
of  a  countryman,  and  went  to  Paris,  with  a  view  of  copy- 
ing in  the  Louvre.  The  merchant  who  had  befriended 
him  in  Boston,  authorized  him,  at  his  departure,  to  send 
the  first  products  of  his  industry  to  his  address.  Accord- 
ingly, he  had  no  sooner  finished  a  few  pictures,  than  they 
were  carefully  transmitted.  Meantime,  Brown  shared 
the  humble  apartment  of  a  brother  artist,  and  for  several 
days  lived  upon  bread  and  water.  While  in  suspense  as 
to  the  result  of  his  experiment,  he  could  not  afford  even 
to  purchase  the  materials  of  his  art,  and  wandered  along 
the  Boulevards  and  through  the  gardens  of  the  brilliant 
metropolis,  often  in  a  state  of  feverish  anxiety,  yet  ever 
and  anon  beguiled  from  a  sense  of  his  isolated  and  impov- 
erished condition,  by  a  rare  engraving  at  a  shop  window, 
or  a  beautiful  effect  of  light  and  shade,  evolved  from  illu- 
minated shrubbery,  dazzling  fountain,  or  moonlit  archi- 
tecture. He  could  have  obtained  pecuniary  aid,  by  merely 
stating  his  wants,  from  more  than  one  pleasant  comrade, 
but  with  the  pride  natural  to  his  cherished  aims,  he  man- 
fully preferred  to  suffer  privations  awhile,  rather  than  ex- 
tend his  obligations  beyond  the  kind  but  poor  artist  whose 
lodging  he  shared.  When  more  than  sufficient  time  had 
elapsed,  however,  for  a  response  to  his  application,  he  be- 
gan to  feel  that  heart-sickness  which  is  born  of  hope  de- 
ferred ;  and  one  lovely  day  in  spring,  he  rose  from  one 
of  the  benches  of  the  Tuileries,  and  ended  a  gloomy  reve- 
rie by  a  determination  to  seek,  for  the  last  time,  the  bank- 


228 


ART  I  ST-L  I  FE. 


er  to  whom  his  letters  were  to  be  addressed,  and  if  again 
disappointed,  to  proceed  on  foot  to  Havre,  and  beg  or  work 
his  passage  to  America.  With  a  thrill  of  joy,  he  found 
warm  acknowledgments  from  the  merchant  awaiting  him. 
The  pictures  had  proved  more  than  satisfactory,  and  re- 
mittances adequate  to  liquidate  his  small  debt,  and  provide 
for  his  immediate  necessities,  had  been  placed  to  his  credit. 

Let  us  now  pass  over  a  few  years.  It  was  a  beauti- 
ful autumn  noon,  and  the  many  churches  of  Boston  had 
poured  poured  forth  the  throngs  of  their  respective  wor- 
shipers. Two  young  men  stood  at  the  end  of  Long 
Wharf,  gazing  upon  the  waters  of  the  harbor.  They  ap- 
proached and  recognized  each  other.  Why  are  you 
here  ?"  asked  one.  In  certain  moods  I  find  a  peculiar 
refreshment  in  beholding  the  sea.  In  view  of  these  ves- 
sels and  that  bay,  I  easily  recall  the  pleasant  hours  of  my 
life  abroad,  and  it  is  sometimes  grateful  to  realize  how 
near  at  hand  is  the  medium  by  which,  if  my  dearest  wish- 
es fail  at  home,  I  may  pass  to  a  distant  land  endeared  by 
association,  and  redolent  of  promise.'^  "  What  a  singu- 
lar coincidence  !"  exclaimed  his  companion  :  "  you  have 
given  expression  to  the  very  feeling  which  pervaded  my 
mind,  though  it  had  not  assumed  a  distinct  shape.  I  have 
seen  just  enough  of  foreign  scenes  to  feel  their  inspiration. 
Under  the  pressure  of  want,  I  knew  amid  them  a  flow  of 
ideas,  a  consciousness  of  sympathy,  and  a  vivid  ambition, 
which  I  am  confident,  in  more  auspicious  circumstances, 
would  have  called  forth  all  my  latent  ability,  and  won 
me  a  reputation  in  my  art ;  but  I  returned,  from  necessity, 


G .     L  .    BROWN.  229 

prematurely,  and  have  since  learned,  from  bitter  experi- 
ence, that  '  a  prophet  is  not  without  honor  save  in  his  own 
country.'  The  old  feeling  will  not  come  back,  although 
I  labor  assiduously  ;  the  mechanical  triumphs  over  the 
spiritual.  I  wait  in  vain  for  orders.  I  miss  the  brother- 
hood, the  high  examples,  the  free  life,  the  artistic  influ- 
ences of  Europe  ;  and  yet  I  cannot,  if  I  would,  chill  the 
spirit  which  my  present  life  renders  dormant,  but  not  dead. 
You  remember  how  Corinne  felt  in  England  ?  I  am  in  a 
like  condition.  What  skill  is  mine  as  a  mere  draughts- 
man remains,  but  the  power  of  improvisation  in  colors 
seems  blighted.  The  technical  eclipses  the  spontaneous.'' 
"  This  is  all  quite  intelligible  to  me,"  answered  the  other, 
"  although  I  have  never  seen  your  works.  Is  there  no 
feasible  method  of  accomplishing  your  desire  ?"  "  None 
that  I  can  imagine,  except  obtaining  commissions — and 
Allston,  to  whom  I  went  for  that  encouragement  he  so 
readily  administers,  last  night,  told  me  that  my  copy  of 
one  of  Claude's  landscapes  was  the  best  he  ever  saw." 

Do  you  think  he  would  put  that  in  writing  ?"  Un- 
doubtedly." "  Bring  such  a  certificate  to  me  on  the 
morrow,  and  we  will  see  what  can  be  done."  The  re- 
sult of  this  colloquy  was  that  the  endorsement  of  the 
great  painter  was  brought  to  the  notice  of  several  wealthy 
citizens,  who  had  a  taste  for  adorning  their  houses  with  au- 
thentic memorials  of  the  old  masters,  and  whose  patriotism 
inclined  them  to  support  native  talent.  Articles  setting 
forth  Brown's  project  were  inserted  in  some  of  the  lead- 
ing journals,  and  in  less  than  a  month  he  was  on  his  way 


230 


ARTIST-LIFE  . 


to  Italy,  with  a  reasonable  advance  on  the  price  demanded 
for  two  or  three  copies  of  Claude  Loraine's  masterpieces. 
He  found  himself  at  work  in  a  Roman  palace,  with  just 
sufficient  to  carry  him  through  the  winter.  Incited 
alike  by  gratitude  and  hope,  he  toiled  long  and  faithfully, 
and,  for  half  a  year,  carried  his  picture  to  and  fro  daily 
between  the  gallery  and  his  lodgings.  While  giving 
the  finishing  touches,  it  caught  the  eye  of  a  Baltimore 
gentleman  of  fortune,  who  had  accidentally  visited  the 
collection ;  an  acquaintance  ensued,  and  Brown's  anxie- 
ties for  the  future  were  put  asleep  by  a  draft  for  a  thou- 
sand dollars,  to  be  invested  according  to  his  own  taste  in 
the  fruits  of  his  expressive  pencil. 

For  the  last  six  years  Brown  has  resided  in  Florence, 
where  he  is  at  present  established.  During  this  time  he 
has  painted  sixty  landscapes,  and  those  not  executed  in 
fulfilment  of  particular  orders,  have  met  with  a  ready 
sale  among  the  traveling  English  and  his  own  country- 
men. The  greater  portion  of  these  works  are  composi- 
tions, many  of  them  representing  felicitous  combinations 
of  Italian  scenery.  The  fir-tree,  the  tower  of  the  middle 
ages,  the  picturesque  bridge,  the  fragmentary  aqueduct, 
the  contadina  at  the  fountain,  the  cross  by  the  wayside, 
and  other  objects,  are  indeed  sufficiently  familiar  to  the 
lover  of  art,  and  form  a  kind  of  staple  imagery  for  the 
traveler's  portfolio.  A  bolder  outline,  greater  freedom 
and  richness  of  coloring,  and  a  more  expressive  tone, 
however,  give  Brown's  treatment  of  these  subjects  a  pe- 
culiar charm.     They  appeal,  under  his  hand,  more 


G  .    L  .  BROWN. 


231 


earnestly  to  our  associations ;  and  yet  we  are  far  from 
regarding  his  style  as  faultless.  Sometimes  there  is  a  too 
obvious  striving  for  effect ;  the  tints  have  a  certain  promi- 
nence, something  like  those  of  gorgeous  tapestry,  and  the 
light  is  not  enough  subdued.  His  efforts,  too,  are  quite 
unequal,  and  he  wants  practice  in  the  figure.  But  these 
are  rather  erroneous  tendencies  than  radical  imperfec- 
tions. More  study  will  not  fail  to  correct  them.  On  his 
return  last  autumn,  on  a  visit  for  a  few  weeks,  he  brought 
some  excellent  specimens  of  his  ability,  which  were 
very  generally  admired,  and  gained  rapidly  upon  public 
estimation,  the  more  they  were  contemplated.  Among 
them  were  two  moonlight  scenes  in  Venice,  of  rare 
beauty.  One  in  particular  gave  with  admirable  truth 
that  peculiar  density  of  the  sky  so  remarkable  in  Italy, 
on  a  summer  night  after  a  storm,  when  the  moon  appears 
to  sail  far  out  from  the  infinite  depths  of  the  blue  con- 
cave, and  silver  the  edges  of  the  massive  clouds  below. 
At  a  proper  distance  the  illusion  of  this  view  is  absolutely 
startling,  and  one  who  can  recognize  its  local  fidelity, 
feels  a  thrill  of  solemn  delight  such  as  once  transported 
him  when  gazing  upon  the  heavens  thus  illumined  from 
the  piazza  San  Marco.  Critics  objected  that  the  pig- 
ments were  laid  on  too  heavily,  but  none  looked  upon  the 
landscape  unmoved,  and  not  a  few  acknowledged  that  it 
was  the  best  southern  moonlight  they  had  ever  seen  upon 
canvas. 

Happiness  is  distinguished  from  mere  pleasure  by  the 
fact  that  in  that  state  we  repose  upon  sensation.    If  we 


232 


AR  TIST-LIFE  . 


analyze  in  our  memories  the  enchantment  of  genuine 
delight,  it  will  be  found  that  a  wish  indefinitely  to  prolong 
the  mood  or  condition,  an  invincible  dread  that  the  spell 
may  be  broken,  a  tranquil  but  intense  absorption  of  con- 
sciousness, is  the  distinctive  trait  by  which  real  enjoy- 
ment may  be  known  from  artificial.  At  such  a  moment 
our  being  is  harmonized ;  there  is  a  sweet  blending  of 
the  elements  of  life  ;  it  is  what  Campbell  means  by  "  the 
torrent's  smoothness  ere  it  dash  below,"  and  Croly  by 
"passion  made  essential,"  and  Coleridge  by  the  realiza- 
tion of  "  gentle  wishes  long  subdued,  subdued  and  cher- 
ished long."  In  the  clear  perception  of  truth,  in  com- 
munion with  nature,  in  what  the  devotional  mean  by 
peace,  the  moralists  by  integrity  of  soul,  and  the  lover  by 
recognition,  the  feeling  we  would  suggest  is  involved. 
It  is  the  settling  of  the  quivering  balance,  the  ultimate 
swell  of  the  choir,  the  mellowness  of  the  full  noontide, 
the  entire  calm  that  succeeds  both  excitement  and  reac- 
tion— in  a  word,  that  completeness,  satisfaction,  content, 
which,  like  the  calm  glow  of  autumn,  seems  to  fill  all 
conscious  desire,  and  hush  the  pleadings  of  expectancy, 
without  inducing  any  of  the  stagnation  of  indifference. 
Politicians  talk  of  a  balance  of  power  ;  there  is  an  equi- 
librium of  soul  somewhat  analogous.  In  literature  and 
art  a  quality  similar  to  this  moral  condition  obtains.  It 
is  to  such  works  what  temperament  is  in  individuals — the 
subtle  principle  uniting  mechanical  and  spiritual  attri- 
butes. Thus  we  talk  of  books  that  soothe  and  books 
that  inspire.    Byron  says,  "  high  mountains  are  a  feel- 


G  .     L  .  BROWN. 


233 


ing.''  The  corresponding  effect  in  the  creations  of 
genius  is  that  which  appeals  to  the  soul — not  referable 
to  outline,  form,  or  perspective,  but  evolved  from  or  mys- 
teriously combined  with  these.  It  is  the  indefinite  charm 
of  art  and  character,  the  magnetism  and  not  the  anatomy 
of  things.  No  phase  of  nature  so  thoroughly  represents 
the  idea  as  atmosphere.  Indeed,  the  use  of  this  term  in 
regard  to  persons  and  places,  is  the  best  proof  of  its  sig- 
nificance, and  the  genius  of  landscape-painting  is  most 
perfectly  exhibited  by  successfully  reproducing  its  magic. 
Claude's  peculiar  merit  lies  in  this  very  achievement. 
As  he  watched  the  sunsets  from  the  Pincian  mount,  he 
not  only  saw  but  felt  them,  and  in  imitating  celestial 
hues,  imparted  also  the  emotion  with  which  they  inspired 
him.  Upon  some  landscapes  we  look  with  pleasure  on 
account  of  their  marvellous  correctness ;  from  others  we 
imbibe  the  sentiment  with  which  they  overflow.  It  is 
the  same  in  poetry.  Crabbe  had  an  eye  for  the  minutest 
details  of  nature ;  Wordsworth  takes  in  the  very  spirit 
of  the  universe,  and  the  writings  of  each  affect  us  ac- 
cordingly. The  special  phase  of  success  and  promise  in 
Brown  is  his  susceptibility  to  the  language  of  atmosphere 
and  skies.  We  have  already  stated  that,  as  a  copyist  of 
Claude,  he  first  advanced  both  in  reputation  and  means. 
His  success  in  giving  that  painter's  manner  has  procured 
him  the  name,  among  his  countrymen  and  brother  artists 
in  Florence,  of  Claude  Brown.  In  order  to  estimate 
wherein  this  merit  differs  from  other  essential  qualities 
of  landscape,  it  is  requisite  to  consider  the  many  delicate 


234 


ARTIST-LIFE. 


variations  which  exist  in  the  skies  and  atmospheres  of 
different  countries  and  seasons.  Whoever  is  alive  to  the 
language  of  nature,  must  be  sensible  of  having  ex- 
perienced, as  it  were,  her  most  changeful  and  insinuating 
moods,  while  contemplating  the  twilight,  sunset,  or  morn- 
ing aspect  of  the  heavens  in  America,  Switzerland,  and 
Italy,  and  in  spring,  winter,  and  autumn.  Perhaps  this 
is  the  most  subtle  and  mysterious  language  which  she 
addresses  to  the  mind,  and  therefore  more  difficult  to  de- 
fine or  analyze.  "  There  is  an  evening  twilight  of  the 
heart,"  says  Halleck — and  who  has  not  felt  it '?  Our 
sunsets  are  gorgeous  rather  than  serene,  and  the  light 
and  skies  with  us,  are  too  exciting  to  afford  the  deepest 
gratification  to  the  feelings,  or  the  most  desirable  material 
for  the  artist.  The  moon  and  stars  appear  to  stand  forth 
from  the  firmament  rather  than  be  half  lost  in  its  depth. 
The  evening  clouds  often  lie  in  huge  fleecy  masses, 
grand  and  bright — 

"  As  if  some  spirit  of  the  air. 
Might  pause  to  gaze  below  awhile. 
Then  turn  to  bathe  and  revel  there." 

There  is  a  keen  transparency  in  the  atmospheres  of  our 
autumn  and  winter,  but  only  the  haze  of  the  Indian  sum- 
mer breathes  a  genuine  poetry.  To  this  neutral  tint, 
subdued  effect,  some  intervening  medium  or  reflected 
light  whereon  the  eye  can  rest  without  being  dazzled — 
in  short,  a  tranquilizing  as  well  as  brilliant  element,  is 
quite  essential.    This  is  the  peculiar  charm  of  Italian 


G  .    L  .  BROWN. 


235 


skies.  Violet  tints,  soft  and  deep,  seem  to  float  over  the 
snowy  Apennines.  There  is  an  apparently  penetrable 
density  in  the  azure  of  the  sky,  observable  especially 
when  seen  through  the  opening  of  a  cupola — as  that  of 
the  Pantheon,  for  instance.  At  sunset,  the  clouds  stretch 
in  penciled  lines  along  the  horizon,  and  every  variety  of 
hue  trembles  through  a  lucid  mist.  The  effect  upon  the 
mind  is  dreamy  ;  the  senses  are  won  by  gentle  encroach- 
ments, and  the  feelings  are  melted  rather  than  roused,  as 
we  gaze.  Claude  was  remarkable  for  the  "  dewy  hu- 
midity which  he  threw  over  dark,  shadowy  places." 
This  he  acquired  from  Ausonian  nature.  Firmamento 
lucido  and  cieli  immensi  belong  to  the  south  of  Europe. 
Beckford,  who,  if  we  may  be  allowed  the  expression, 
was  an  epicurean  lover  of  nature,  when  he  first  saw  the 
sun  go  down  upon  the  southern  plains  on  the  other  side 
of  the  Alps,  wrote  thus — "  A  few  hazy  vapors — I  cannot 
call  them  clouds — rested  upon  the  extremity  of  the 
landscape,  and  through  their  medium  the  sun  cast  an 
oblique  and  dewy  ray."  The  tints  of  the  Apennines  are 
singularly  mellow,  the  air  which  encircles  them  often  at 
once  pearly  and  transparent,  and  their  summits  are  some- 
times invested  with  a  saffron  light.  When  the  Swiss 
mountains  greeted  AUston's  vision  at  early  morning 
from  Lake  Maggiore,  he  says — "  They  seemed  literally 
to  rise  from  their  purple  beds  and  put  on  their  golden 
crowns."  And  in  Monaldi,  describing  a  summer  noon  at 
Rome,  he  observes — "  There  was  a  thin  yellow  haze 
over  the  distance,  like  that  which  precedes  the  sirocco, 


236 


ARTIST-LIFE. 


but  the  nearer  objects  were  clear  and  distinct,  and  so 
bright  that  the  eye  could  scarcely  rest  upon  them  with- 
out quivering,  especially  on  the  modern  buildings,  with 
their  huge  sweep  of  whited  walls,  and  their  red-tiled 
roofs,  that  lay  burning  in  the  sun ;  while  the  sharp, 
black  shadows  which,  here  and  there,  seemed  to  indent 
the  dazzling  masses,  might  almost  have  been  fancied  the 
cinder-tracks  of  fire."  Such  descriptions  evince  the 
richness  of  this  field  of  observation  to  an  artist.  Mere 
acuteness  of  perception,  however,  is  not  sufficient  to 
transfer  such  vague  beauties  to  canvas.  There  must  be 
a  vivid  sympathy  with  transitions  so  interwoven  and 
aerial.  We  have  compared  the  atmospheric  phenomena 
of  color,  light  and  shade,  density  and  transparency,  as 
visible  in  nature,  with  the  moods  of  the  mind.  To  ex- 
tend the  similitude — to  those  who  do  not  sympathize  with 
and  love  us,  our  moods  are  purely  objective,  arbitrary, 
and  isolated  states  ;  but  the  eye  which  can  read  our  own, 
the  heart  whose  pulses  vibrate  to  our  touch,  recognize 
in  these  moods  a  soulful  meaning.  And  thus  the  painter 
who  only  sees  nature  with  his  eyes,  can  but  embody  her 
more  palpable  forms  and  colors ;  while  he  who  is  drawn 
towards  her  by  undefinable  attraction,  and  feels  her  more 
intricate  relations,  portrays  her  in  the  spirit  of  faith  as 
well  as  of  sight.  This  is  only  saying  that  in  regard  to 
susceptibility,  the  painter  should  be,  and  is  by  nature,  a 
poet  also.  There  is  as  much  sentiment  in  one  of  Claude's 
best  landscapes  as  there  is  in  Raphael's  Holy  Families. 
Hitherto  our  landscape  painters  have  excelled  mainly  in 


G  .    L  .  BROWN. 


237 


graphic  ability,  in  the  American  aptitudes  of  tact  and 
quickness ;  they  have  faithfully  depicted  the  material 
objects  which  constitute  scenery,  but  rarely  caught  a 
trace  of  the  soul  of  the  universe,  by  which  she  allies 
herself  to  the  heart  of  man  ;  and  it  is  because  we  dis- 
cern the  clearest  tokens  of  this  genial  feeling  in  some  of 
Brown's  pictures,  that  we  would  cheer  him  onward. 


THE  END. 


APPLETON^S  LITER  AM  MISCELLANY, 

A  NEW  SERIES  OF  CHOICE  BOOKS. 


No.  1.— GERTRUDE,  a  Tale.    By  the  author  of  «  Amy  Herbert."  Edited 
by  tlie  Rev.  W.  Sewell,  M.  A.    50  cents ;  cloth,  75  cents. 
**  We  know  of  but  few  books  of  this  class  which  are  more  worthy  of  attentive  oeru- 

sal  by  young  women,  than  Gertrude."— Cowrier  and  Enquirer. 

Nos.  2  and  3.— I  PROMESSI  SPOSI,  or  The  Betrothed.  Translated  from 
the  Italian  of  Alessandro  Manzoni.  2  vols.  $1  ;  cloth,  $1.50. 
'*  It  IS  a  work  considered  quite  as  remarkable,  by  the  world  of  letters,  as  the  novel 
of  Waverley  in  our  own  land  Manzoni,  in  fact,  is  the  Sir  Walter  Scott  of  Italy  ;  and 
Bomc.  go  as  far  as  to  say  that  this  work  is  even  more  bewitching,  and  has  a  higher  tone, 
than  Any  of  the  productions  of  our  northern  wizard." — The  Critic. 

No  4.— MEMOIRS  OF  AN  AMERICAN  LADY,  with  Sketches  of  Man- 
iiers  and  Scenery  in  America,  as  they  existed  previous  to  the  Revolution.  By 
Mrs.  Grant.    50  cents  ;  cloth,  75  cents. 

"  A  volume  of  intrinsic  worth  to  all  who  are  desirous  to  behold  a  genuine  picture 
Df  our  ancestors  prior  to  the  changes  made  in  our  country  by  the  Revolution  and  our 
subsequent  independence ;  therefore,  to  the  women  of  our  republic,  and  especially 
the  '  American  lady,'  it  is  confidently  recommended." 

No.  5.— THE  LIFE  OF  F.  SCHILLER,  embrachi^  an  Examination  of  hia 
Works.  By  Thomas  Carlyle.  From  the  new  English  edition,  revised  by 
the  author.    50  cents  ;  cloth  75  cents. 

"  No  man,  perhaps,  is  better  qualified  than  Thomas  Carlyle  to  write  Schiller's  life, 
and  reveal  to  the  world  the  exhaustless  treasures  of  his  mighty  spi'-it.  The  work 
before  us  needs  no  commendation.   All  lovers  of  German  literature  will  read  it." 

Nos.  6  and  7.— SKETCHES  OF  MODERN  LITERATURE  AND  LIT- 
ERARY  MEN,  (being  a  Gallery  of  Literary  Portraits.)  By  Geo.  Gilfil- 
LAN.  Reprinted  entire  from  the  London  edition.    Paper,  $1  ;  cloth,  $1.25. 

"  Though  the  name  of  the  author  of  this  work  is  not  familiar  to  us,  his  book  is  one 
which  cannot  fail  to  be  read  with  a  keen  and  general  relish." — Cour.  and  Eng. 

Nos.  8  and  9.— HISTORY  OF  THE  ENGLISH  REVOLUTION  OF 
1640  ;  commonly  called  the  Great  Rebellion.  From  the  accession  of  Charles  I 
to  his  death.    By  F.  Guizot,  the  Prime  Minister  of  France,  etc.  Paper 
cover,  $1  ;  cloth,  $1.25. 
We  need  not  sa^''  that  this  is  a  work  of  thrilling  interest,  relating  to  some  of  the 

most  important  and"  stirring  events  in  English  history.   It  will  be  read  with  great 

avidity." — Tribune. 

Nos.  10,  11.  14,  15.  17,  18,  19,  20.— A  GENERAL  HISTORY  OF  CIVI- 
LIZATION IN  EUROPE,  from  the  Fall  of  the  Roman  Empire  to  the 
French  Revolution.  By  F.  Guizot,  the  Prime  Minister  of  France,  etc.  Trans- 
lated by  Wm.  Hazlitt.  Complete  in  4  vols.  Cloth,  $3.50  ;  paper  covers,  $3. 
A  work  closely  condensed,  including  nothing  useless,  omitting  nothing  essential, 

written  with  grace,  and  conceived  and  arranged  with  consummate  ability. 

No.  12.— THE  PEOPLE.  By  M.  Michelet,  Prof,  of  History  in  the  College 
of  France.  Translated  by  G.  H.  Smith,  F.  G.  S.  Paper,  50  cts. ;  cloth,  63  cts. 
"  His  book  will  be  found  highly  interesting  to  all  who  think  that  man  is  made  foi 

sometiiing  better  than  a  '  hewer  of  wood  and  drawer  of  water.' " — Cincinnati  Atlas. 

No.  13— THE  LIFE  OF  MARTIN  LUTHER.  Gathered  from  his  own 
Writings.    By  M.  Michelet.  Translated  by  G.  H.  Smith,  F.  G.  S.  Paper 

cover,  .50  cents  ;  cloth,  75  cents. 

"The  plan  of  this  book  is  novel,  but  adapted  to  give  a  correct  idea  of  the  man,  il 
not  a  more  correct  idea  than  any  life  that  has  yet  appeared." — Com.  Adv. 

No    16 —SOMETHING   FOR  EVERYBODY;  Gleaned  in  the  Old  Pur- 
chase, from  fields  often  reaped.    By  Robert  Carlton,  author  of  "  The 
New  Purchase."    Paj)er  cover,  50  cents  ;  cloth,  75  cents. 
"  The  author's  sound  common  sense  view  s  on  the  popular  isjns  of  the  day  will 

commend  the  work  to  general  attention." 

No.  21.— AMY  HERBERT,  a  Tale.    By  the  author  of  "  Gertrude,"  «  Lane 
ton  Parsonage,"  etc.    Paper  cover,  50  cents;  cloth,  75  cents. 
This  Interesting  work  is  now  for  the  first  time  presented  in  a  form  worthy  of  pre» 

ervation.   Several  thousand  copies  have  beenscid  in  clieap  pamphlet  styi« 


APPLETON'S  LITERARY  MISCELLANY, 


CONTINUED. 

No.  22.— TWO  LIVES  ;  or  To  Seem  and  to  Be.  By  Maria  J.  McIntosh, 
author  of  "  Praise  and  Principle  "  "  Conquest  and  Self-Conquest,"  etc.,  etc. 
Paper  cover,  50  cents  ;  cloth,  75  cents. 

**  This  exquisite  tale  possesses  charms  that  are  rarely  presented  by  the  modern  novel.  There  is 
so  much  quiet  beauty  in  the  style,  such  a  refreshing  healthiness  in  the  incidents,  and  so  Christian- 
like a  point  in  the  moral,  that  it  insensibly  chastens  the  feelings  and  invigorates  the  understand- 
ing, while  it  instructs  and  amuses.    It  should  be  read,  every  word  of  it,  by  youth  of  both  sexes.' ' 

Nos.  23  and  24.— MARGARET  PERCIVAL.  A  Tale.  By  Miss  Sewell, 
author  of  "  Amy  Herbert,"  "  Gertrude,"  etc.  2  vols.  Paper  cover,  $i  00  ; 
cloth,  f  1  50. 

This  is  another  of  Miss  Sewell's  beautiful  and  instructive  narratives,  fully  sustaining  the  high 
reputation  accorded  to  her  for  her  fine  descriptive  powers,  her  profound  knowledge  of  the  human 
heart,  the  springs  of  action,  and  the  sources  of  true  enjoyment.  Those  who  are  acquainted  with 
the  previous  efforts  of  the  authoress,  and  her  unexceptionable  views  of  religious  truths,  will  need 
no  incentive  to  possess  themselves  of  this  volume." 

No.  25.— HISTORY  OF  THE  ROMAN  REPUBLIC.  By  J.  Mighelet, 
author  of  "  History  of  France,"  Life  of  Luther,"  etc.  Paper  cover,  50  cts. ; 
cloth,  75  cents. 

"  This  is  one  of  the  most  brilliant  and  instructive  of  Michelet's  historical  works.  Its  peculiar  ex- 
cellencies consist  in  the  accuracy  of  its  historical  details,  the  great  compression  of  incidents  which 
the  author  has  been  enabled  to  achieve  without  detriment  to  the  interest  of  his  narrative,  and  the 
life-like  manner  in  which  the  social  condition  of  the  Roman  people  is  e>hibited.  It  possesses  all 
the  charms  of  a.  well- written  romance,  with  the  solid  attractions  of  veritable  history." 

No.  26.— THE  FAIRY  BOWER  ;  or  The  History  of  a  Month.  A  Tale.  By 
the  author  of  "  The  Lost  Broach,"  "  Louisa,"  etc.  From  the  third  English 
edition.    Paper  cover,  50  cts.  ;  cloth,  75  cents. 

"  It  is  a  tale  for  young  people,  one  of  high  moral  tone,  and  great  artistic  merit.  We  speak 
from  actual  acquaintance  with  it  when  we  say,  that  even  the  warmest  admirers  of  Amy  Her- 
bert," and  Miss  {Sewell's  other  works,  will  welcome  its  publication,  and  find  it  a  volume  sur- 
passed by  none  of  the  kind  in  fitness  for  their  children's  perusal.  A  few  copies  of  the  English 
editions  have  from  time  to  time  heretofore  found  their  readers  among  us,  and  such  persons  we  are 
sure  will  join. us  in  welcoming  its  republication." — The  Churchman. 

No.  27.— A  SUMMER  IN  THE  WILDERNESS  ;  Embracing  a  Canoe 
Voyage  up  the  Mississippi  and  around  Lake  Superior.  By  Charles  Lanman, 
author  of  '*  Essays  for  Summer  Hours,"  etc. 

"  Mr.  Lanman's  new  book  of  Travels  is  in  many  respects  the  best  work  from  his  pen  ;  it  con- 
tains much  original  and  novel  matter. 

No.  28.— AUNT  KITTY'S  TALES.  By  Maria  J.  McIntosh,  author  of 
"  Two  Lives,"  etc.  A  new  revised  edition.  1  vol.  l2mo.  Paper  cover,  50 
cents  ;  cloth,  75  cents. 

*'  These  tales  are,  Blind  Mice,  or  Do  Right  if  you  wish  to  be  Happy  ;  Jessie  Graham,  or 
Friends  Dear,  but  Truth  Dearer  ;  Florence  JJrnott,  or  Is  She  Generous  ?  Orace  and  Clara,  or 
Be  Just  as  well  as  Generous  ;  and  Elleii  Leslie,  or  The  Reward  of  Self-Control.  We  have 
used  every  occasion  for  saying  that  these  tales  are  among  the  best,  if  they  -are  not  the  best 
writings  of  the  kind,  for  the  young.  The  stories  are  natural,  simple  in  their  incidents,  full  of 
practical  lessons,  and  imbued  with  the  best  moral-and  religious  tone  ;  while  the  style  and  man- 
ner of  the  writer  is  pleasing  and  graceful.'^ 

No.  29  — PREVENTION  BETTER  THAN  CURE;  or  the  Moral  Wants 
of  the  World  we  live  in.  By  Mrs.  Ellis,  author  of  "  The  Women  of 
England,"  etc.,  etc.    1  vol.  12mo.  Paper  cover,  50  cts.  ;  cloth,  75  cts. 


934.  TUCKERMAN,  H.  Artist-Lif^  915.  TIETZE,  H.,  ed  Ma 
1847.  238pp,  8vo.   cl.  ex-lib.  d  1939.   336pp  +  317  i 

The  interest  of  this  book  lii  ^ 
discussed.  ]  916.  TIMES,  J.  &  GUNN, 


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